


We, the Children of the Night

by KiraNightshade44



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Animal Death, Anne Rice inspired, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Horror, Kylo-sexual Rey, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Mystery, Non-Consensual Touching, Pansexual Kylo, Possessive Kylo Ren, Possessive Rey (Star Wars), Redemption, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut Begins in Chap 22, Suicidal Ideation, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 122,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraNightshade44/pseuds/KiraNightshade44
Summary: “I do not breathe,” Rey utters into the abandoned apartment with a hack journalist sitting across from her. “I do not sleep so much as die with the sunrise, only to be brought back again with the rising of the moon. My life, as it is, is just a hellish imitation of your own. I am Death and that hurts most of all.”Ben often tells her not to worry about such things. That her moaning and whining accomplishes nothing. That her softness, her humanity is a wasteful hobby.Even though that was what had saved them all in the end.On temporary hiatus. Focusing on other WIPs, but I will be back for this one. <3
Relationships: Finn & Armitage Hux, Rey/Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
Comments: 60
Kudos: 38





	1. My Name is Night

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... So I posted this story, along with another piece of work, awhile back and then in a fit of insecurity, I deleted my account and my works. First of all - to anyone who read my stories and was disappointed that they suddenly vanished, you have my sincerest apologies. Second, I have realized that it is much more enjoyable to share my work with others than to let it rot away in a file. 
> 
> So, with some new editions, editing and rewrites, let's try again. This story will come to you in Three Parts and is dark, gloomy, and at times quite bleak - but such is the life of a vampire. I am probably enjoying this story far more than I should, but who doesn't love a good old fashioned vampire story with some heavy inspiration from Anne Rice? 
> 
> Mind the tags - there is some dark content ahead - and hopefully, you enjoy! <3
> 
> P.S. Updates will be fairly regular for now - I have the bulk of Part One completed and due to the wonderful circumstances in the world, I am currently unemployed and have an abundance of free time on my hands. So lots of writing to come!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of Rey is a concept art piece from The Rise of Skywalker for Dark Rey. Credited to Comic Book Movie.

**Part One: Gentle Darkling**

Silence greets her from the other side of the table. She cannot say that she blames him. 

The man is young, in his early thirties, with a charming smile, curly black hair and beguiling brown eyes. But he is just a man. A mortal. Although they sit together at this wooden table, in an empty, musty smelling apartment above a convenience store in one of the shadier parts of Chicago, the night they share is only his to borrow and hers to endure.

Always and forever.

“So… what should I call you? I mean, I don’t think we’ve even exchanged names yet. My name is Poe Dameron.”

She smiles at him, almost pityingly, and notices the way he pales at the sight of her teeth. Particularly her sharp incisors. No harm will come to this man – at least, not from her. She has assured him as much, though she can see now that he did not really believe she was a threat before.

Poe Dameron plainly feels quite differently now.

“Call me Rey.”

Her birth name, Rhylen Kenobi, is not a name she thinks of as hers anymore. It belongs to her first life, so sweet and brutally short. Like it belongs to a distant relative that died so long ago, she can hardly recall their face.

Her human life ended many centuries ago.

“So… how are we doing this then?” Poe glances at the door and then down to his cell phone, watching the recording tick by.

Really, this mere child has no concept of time. It was once like that for her too.

“You’re frightened,” Rey informs him, this time ensuring that she is smiling with her mouth closed. Her hazel eyes sparkle unnaturally in the yellow glow of the light above them.

“I’m on my way to it. Yeah,” Poe replies with an uneasy grin.

“You have nothing to fear from me.” 

Rey does not bother to reach out to him, as the chill of her skin would only startle him more. Even from here, she can see his pulse in his throat, pounding away. She already fed by the time she encountered Poe in a nearby café. He was working away on a blog about Chicago's community gardens when he caught her eye and it had not taken much to lure him up here. She pressed on his mind just enough to convince him that she had a great story to share with him, something that would make for an exciting entry on his blog. With misty-eyed bemusement, he had left the cafe and followed her here. 

She does not know why she is doing this. Honestly, she just might be bored. She can only imagine what Ben would have to say if he knew she was here. Her gaze flits away from Poe's and although she does not quite wince, she experiences a sensation much like pain.

A sensation of longing.

“So... you’re really a vampire then?”

Rey returns her attention to Poe and before he has time to blink, she crosses the room in a whirl of movement too fast for the human eye to see, hanging her coat on the hook by the door, only to return to her seat just as quickly.

Poe leaps back from the table with a sharp cry, his eyes wide and filled with terror and his chair clattering to the floor.

She peers up at him blandly. Gesturing with her hand, her fingernails long and clean, she motions toward his chair. After a braceful pause in which she can see the thoughts turning about his head - thoughts of fleeing for his life - he seems to surprise himself when he takes his seat again.

“How…” but Poe only trails off, mystified and - if she’s correct – a little fascinated as well.

Good. She had hoped this man would be daring enough to listen to her, rather than running off into the night screaming.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Rey offers. Her eyes glitter like precious stones. Tiger's eye, liquid amber. Like rutilated quartz, shot through with gold. 

“Okay. Sure. That sounds swell.” Poe stares at her raptly, like he’s afraid she is going to tear across the room again. “So… where were you born?”

“France,” she says dismissively. “But let’s not begin there. Of my human life, I can tell you that I was born in a small village east of Versailles, that I lived for twenty-one years, and then I died, on the same night as the rest of my family. But, what I really think you mean to ask me is, when I was _reborn_. No?”

Poe is slack-jawed, if not a little mesmerized. She can tell he is trying to decide if she has drugged him, if she is insane, or if maybe (and most terrifyingly of all) she is telling the truth. 

She does not concern herself with his belief. He is here. He has not left. He will stay. This she knows as surely as where the sun rises in the morning.

“Okay,” Poe says, after a long pause. “Okay, yes. Let’s start there, then.”

Rey lips curl into a subtle smirk, and she settles a hand on her lap while the other rests on the table. She wears no jewelry and her hair is done in three buns, a style from the 90s that she favours to this day. She wears a plain white t-shirt and dark wash jeans. On her feet, she wears a pair of Keds. 

She doubts the Vampire Council would approve of her attire, but she is beholden to no one now. That much, she can at least say, brings her a small measure of peace.

“I could write centuries worth of poetry describing the shades of night. I could write songs and ballads of heartbreak and loss, for all the good it would do you. None of these pretty words will ever bring back the thing I most crave, for it might be the sun that I miss in my most spiteful moments, but I know what it all really means.”

She pauses here, watching Poe’s expression carefully. When he nods for her to continue, just as apprehensively awestruck as ever, she is satisfied that she can have her say. Just this once, she can tell her story. 

“I do not breathe,” Rey utters into the abandoned apartment with a hack journalist sitting across from her. “I do not eat, defecate, or even sneeze. I do not get cold or hot. I do not even sleep so much as die with the sunrise, only to be brought back again with the rising of the moon. My life, as it is, is just a hellish imitation of your own. 

“I am Death and that hurts most of all.”

Ben often tells her not to worry about such things. That her moaning and whining accomplishes nothing. That her softness, her _humanity_ is a wasteful hobby. 

Even though that was what had saved them all in the end. 

Poe swallows thickly. She leans forward in her seat, smiling with nostalgia. As the seconds go by and the little red bar grows larger across his cell phone, she is already halfway back there, in the grips of the past, where night’s wing has prevailed upon her often mystifying and strange life for so many years, she can hardly remember the sun anymore.

“So this is… a biography then?” he asks haltingly. “You want me to document your life?”

She pauses before answering him, savouring the words the way one might a fine wine. Oh yes, she is back there alright. Back there, in France. Back there, at the very beginning, when she was just a gentle darkling, so fresh and vulnerable to the vicious world. 

“This is a story,” Rey says to the young man, her tone a prelude to mystery, horror, and suspense. He seems to feel it too because his shoulders tense up like someone has just walked over his grave. 

“A love story,” she adds in a dulcet murmur, but she does not see Poe’s look of astonishment. Not anymore. 

She is already back there with him. 


	2. There Be Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is twenty-one when they come with the night.
> 
> They steal her home, her family, and everything she has ever known. Their eyes glow red in the darkness, reflective and nearly feline, but with far more malice than any living creature could ever possess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First image was pulled from Pinterest, no artist credited - called "Dark forest, glow of the lake, an eternal dance of death". 
> 
> Second image credited to Pandacv721 on Deviant Art.

She is twenty-one when they come with the night.

They steal her home, her family, and everything she has ever known. Their eyes glow red in the darkness, reflective and nearly feline, but with far more malice than any living creature could ever possess. In those final moments in her childhood home, she does not see them up close. Not that night.

But she can _hear_ them.

They shriek and cackle and tear through the house like malignant spirits, crawling on the walls and ceilings, and ripping apart the curtains and upholstery with their fingernails and teeth. The legends say that you need to invite these creatures in, but that’s not true at all. They let themselves in, like foxes in a rooster pen.

Rey does not know how long they watched her house, waiting for the perfect night to strike. She does not know if they stalked her family for weeks, or if they randomly happened upon them and took advantage of their remote location. The neighbours are a day’s ride on horseback and all that surrounds the house is brambles and forest.

It would be all too easy, now that she knows better.

It’s not long before the beasts descend on the inhabitants of the house. Soon the servants are screaming, her father is shouting from upstairs, and her brothers and sisters are crying out for mama, but there is no possible way for their mother to reach them.

Rey and her mother are cut off from everyone else. They have locked themselves in the kitchen, where they can hear the house being torn to pieces – and their family members as well. Her mother is a pale figure in the halls of her memory now, but she can remember the way she tells her to run. They are standing in the kitchen, where the servants normally hold court over steaming ovens and the pastry boards, where she and her little brother used to steal sweets and hide under the awning of the front window, giggling and snacking away, so painfully young and carefree. So painfully alive. 

Her little brother is already dead, his throat ripped out and his blood covering the parcade floors of the foyer. Rey slipped in his blood on her way to the kitchen and would have gone sprawling had her mother not been there to catch her. How they made it to the kitchen, she will never know, but none of that really matters now.

Above them, she hears the crash of glass as the beasts that look so human destroy her home, flying through windows and launching themselves on whatever living flesh they can find. Snarls fill her ears. The tear of skin and bone. The gurgling death cries of her older sister. She can hear it all even through the walls, with terrible clarity.

But it’s her mother’s voice she can hear the clearest. Her name was Antoinette. She has her father’s long sword in one hand, and she makes Rey take it, even though she is shaking so badly she barely has a grip on the thing. Her mother tells her the sword is silver and that if the old wives’ tales are true it may protect her. That she must run into the woods surrounding their house, that she must keep running until she can’t anymore and then to keep going some more.

“Use it. You must use this sword on them if they get close. You _must_ Rhylen. My _petite femme_ ,” her mother tells her in French, tears streaking down her face and her housecoat covered in blood. Rey knows that it’s likely her father’s blood she’s looking at and that she will never see any of her family again.

“I can’t go without you, mama…” 

She is terrified. In an agony of loss and shock. There is a bleating pressure on her temples and her vision is strangely narrow and foggy. Her face is covered in snot and tears, but her mother only shakes her head and gives her a rough shove out the back door onto the lawn. There is no more time for these strangled pleas because the beasts are getting nearer. They are right outside the kitchen now, drawn to the frantic beats of their hearts.

“Now, my baby girl,” her mother says and then she closes the door, leaving Rey to the mercy of the darkness outside.

She wishes she could remember her mother’s face. She wishes she could remember more than just her terrifying, stumbling journey from the kitchen door to woods behind her house.

But she cannot, try as she might. 

She lifts the skirts of her white nightdress with one hand and grasps the blade with the other as she dashes for the tree line and into the endless dark of the forest.

From within the house, her mother begins to scream, and in her heart, she knows. She will never see her mother, the house, or any of her family again. They’re all gone.

It’s just her and the trees now.

*

Dawn has come and gone.

She is cold. Her fingers feel as though they are forged from pure ice and her slippers do nothing to insulate from the cold and wet grass. Her legs hurt from running, her lungs burn, and her throat feels she has gargled broken glass.

She’s fallen twice.

The first time she only scraped her hand, the sword saving her from a worse fall when she began using it as a walking stick. The second time, she was not so lucky. She cut her head open and split her lip. She also bit her tongue and her mouth is full of copper and sticky blood, making her nauseous.

The fear keeps her going. If nothing else, there is a small glimmer of hope that she might make it to her neighbours. During the night, she heard strange sounds in the forest, hours after she had left her home behind. Shrieks, croaking, and riotous laughter.

She knows it is them. They are just trying to draw this out. Their bellies are full and now they are toying with her because they can. The sounds stopped shortly before dawn and she knows every moment counts to gain some ground on them.

It's the village she wants, but she is too far away. She also knows that she’s not going to be able to go on for much longer like this.

 _Stop then,_ Rey thinks and though the thought terrifies her, there is a certain attraction to it as well. She could run herself through with the sword and end it before they descend upon her with the fall of night. She could keep running and inevitably collapse with exhaustion, a ripe meal for those things tracking her through the forest.

To her surprise, there is a third option that occurs to her.

She is the daughter of a hunter. Her father trapped game, hunted large deer and moose and has even defeated the large brown bears that frequent these woods. With their home so close to a forest, her father taught his sons and daughters how to wield a sword. How to build traps and how to wait and hide, cultivating patience within his children that few others would dare possess.

She knows what she is going to do.

Rey stops when she finds what she wants. The sky is grey with looming dusk and she knows it will not be long before those things awake. She has no idea how quickly they move, only that the most she saw of them was a horrifying blur when they were ransacking her home. The fact that she will likely not survive what is to come is of little consequence to her anymore because there is control to be had here.

With pine needles in her hair, her face bloodied and battered from branches and the unforgiving forest floor, she will take that small ounce of control she has left and use it.

What she does not know is that this show of bravery will cost her a lot more than just her life.

*

The log is hollowed out from rot, but not too far gone so as not to provide stability when she crawls inside. The sword is held against her front, gleaming in the darkness along with her pretty hazel eyes. They are all she has of her father now, those hazel spheres, and within them are all the cunning and bravery that befits her father’s name.

Darkness falls.

It is not long before Rey hears footsteps crunching over the underbrush. Tree branches crack, and animals flee from the unnatural specters moving ever closer to her location. Low growls chuff into the cool autumn air. High, cackling shrieks echo off the trees, leaves falling to the ground with a sudden weight that leaps from tree to tree.

She does not let these sounds reach the heart of her fear. There is a steel fortress erected there now, protecting her from such things. Silently, she sends a prayer to a god she does not precisely believe in and she waits, her feet curled under her and her face hard with fury and grief.

 _Use it,_ her mother had said.

And she does.

Rey can only imagine the look of surprise on the thing that jumps onto the log she hides in when a long silver blade is driven upwards through rotting wood and right into their unsuspecting foot. A long, unnaturally shrill scream fills the night air and with great effort, she yanks the blade out of the wood and shuffles through the log as fast as she can. She does not come out the other end though. That is where another creature will be waiting, like wolves drawn to a cowering sheep.

And Rhylen Kenobi is no sheep.

A pair of haunted red eyes peep at her from the end of the log, and a hand as pale as milk reaches in towards her. Rey sees that the creature is a woman - or what is supposed to resemble a woman, but she sees no other details through the fugue of her shock. Above her, the other beast is still screaming in pain and furious surprise, but that will be for later. With the viciousness of a cornered possum, she drives the blade into that waiting face and is quickly rewarded with yet another shriek of utter agony.

Rey’s face twists into a malicious smile.

She does not notice the tears streaming down her face as she uses her weight to push the beast away, the blade buried deep in its cheek and jaw. She does not notice when three of her fingernails rip down to the quick, or that the wound on her head has reopened. None of these things registers as she shoves the creature away and she emerges from the log. A dead spider hangs from her hair and she looks rather insane as she screams with victory, tearing the blade from the creature’s jowls and spinning around for the others she knows will be there behind her.

She is slashing. She is hacking. She is spinning in circles, screaming and weeping profusely, her face twisted with a mad grin of vindication and her eyes filled with utter grief as she stabs and slices her way through them. 

In that short span of time, Rey has quite lost her mind. 

There are many of them – or at least, it seems that way to her at the time. One of them has hair like fire. One is Black. Yet another is a woman with dark hair and a twisted smile. They keep healing themselves, faster than the eye can track but she does not falter. 

What Rey cannot possibly know until much later is that there are only seven of them. Hux, Finn, Rose, Bazine, Jango, Mitaka, Kaydel - but she does not have their names yet. They are nothing but rabid animals that she is intent upon killing until she cannot move anymore. Until they kill her. 

It may be only several minutes later, or several hours, but suddenly her back hits a tree.

Rey slashes the blade when one of them gets too close to her and through her tears, she can just make out that yet another of these beasts is female. She is short, has black hair and dark almond-shaped eyes. The woman-beast hisses and lunges at her, but Rey is quick too. The creatures are apprehensive to get too close. Though she has not dealt any of them mortal damage, the silver of the blade burns their skin. They hover nearby, reaching out with their hands like claws, hissing and spitting and snarling at her like barn cats.

“ _Come on_!” Rey screams at them in French. She says other things, but she cannot recall what, only that her vocal cords are strained from yelling and that she is at the edge of exhaustion.

Then, just as another beast attempts to duck under a blade, a low growl sounds off in the night.

All of the creatures spin around, their gazes aimed at something she cannot see. A nervous tension fills the air and it takes her a moment to realize it is coming from the beasts. That they seem… scared? Anxious?

Rey keeps her blade held in front of her, her dirt and blood-streaked face pale like the moon and her eyes wide and alert. Goosebumps erupt up her spine and her muscles feel like they are coiled springs. Something is coming – even she can feel it. 

Then, to her befuddlement, the beasts begin backing away from her. 

They withdraw to the shadows until all she can see of them are their red glowing eyes. At any other time, this sight would be terrifying enough on its own, but she is far more concerned with what is approaching now. The shadows seem to coil and curl in on themselves in a way that is entirely unnatural. She starts heaving for air, her breath materializing before her eyes when it had not done so a second ago. More growling fills the night, and then, about twenty feet away, she can make out two massive shapes approaching through the underbrush.

“Stay away!” she shrieks, brandishing her blade in a violent arc.

There is another sound that reaches her ears – almost like a parent softly cooing to their irrational child. Without knowing how she knows, she realizes that it’s one of those large shapes making this sound at her. She bares her teeth, nearly flying into a rage again. Whatever these new creatures are, she will not let them toy with her any further.

Yet, when two sets of glowing eyes appear out of the night, right in the spot where the massive shapes are, she backs into the tree again on instinct.

Unlike the other beasts, one pair of eyes glows yellow, while the other pair glows emerald green. There is something else too, some power she can feel turning over all around her. Like the air is being ransacked – like her very _mind_ is being searched through.

“Get out of my head,” Rey seethes at the darkness.

All around her, the red-eyed beasts cackle like this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

“ _Impressive_.”

Every single hair on Rey’s body stands on end. The beasts stop cackling as well, and she has an instant to wonder if these two are their leaders. The owner of that voice – why, they must be a demon. No one’s voice can be that low.

No one who is human, that is.

“ _Yes, I agree, my progeny. Quite impressive_ ,” another voice responds, not quite as deeply as the first, but not remotely human either.

It’s them; the shapes she can just barely make out. They are speaking to each other.

“Show yourselves, you cowards,” Rey demands. She is terrified and she knows that taunting them will not end well for her, but she also knows she is not leaving this forest alive. She intends to fight back as long as she can.

“ _If you insist_ ,” the first voice replies, silky and eerily deep.

As the two shapes emerge from the shadows, her eyes widen with shock. On the left, a massive black wolf materializes out of the dark. It’s eyes glow green and its mouth is full of sharp teeth. It seems to be grinning at her, its tongue wagging as it sniffs the air obnoxiously.

It's _scenting_ her, she realizes with horror.

Next to the black wolf, a grizzled bear thumps into the clearing, its fur matted grey and blonde. As far as Rey knows, she has never seen a bear with fur that colour before. Both creatures are massive – much bigger than natural wolves and bears, that’s for sure – and she wonders if they intend on ripping her to pieces before something even stranger happens.

The longer she stares at them, the more they seem to _change_. There is a ripping sound, like meat tearing apart, and then the wolf and bear begin to transform. Pale skin appears on their hides, their heads shrink, and their bodies grow long.

Before her eyes, the creatures transform into two men.

The bear is now a middle-aged man; he is short, a little fat, and he has greying blonde hair the same colour as the bear. He wears a long velvet jacket the colour of wine, black trousers and black boots.

The black wolf is now a tall mountain of a man. Rey finds him far more intimidating than his older counterpart. He has black hair, dark eyes, and skin as pale as cream. He wears all black, his coat long and high collared. His hair is long enough to brush his shoulders, almost like the feathers of a raven. His lips are sensual, full, and plush, like a woman’s more than a man’s. There is something oddly graceful about his features, his cheekbones angular, as though carved from stone, and his forehead high and strong.

Both men have crimson lips and pale skin, their eyes aglow with unnatural light and staring at her as though she is a mildly interesting species of insect. Though the younger man has something else glimmering in his eyes; a hunger that she recognizes as the more mortal kind, in much the same way that the butcher in the village has taken to looking at her lately, now that she has more womanly curves.

Rey stares at both men in awe, but when the older man starts towards her, she raises her blade high in the air.

“I wouldn’t,” she threatens, her voice remarkably steady for a young woman on the cusp of death.

“And what do you think you’re going to do with that, my dear?” the older man murmurs, almost kindly. She would almost think him benevolent were not for his glowing yellow eyes and the fangs she can see peeking between his lips.

“What I have to,” she replies, with a quiet kind of grace.

The younger man smiles at this, his lips cocked in a crooked grin that would have been charming if he was not a monster.

“Most impressive. And quite beautiful, too. Will we take her, Maker?”

“Oh yes,” the older man says, now looking grim as he appraises her. “Would be a waste otherwise. She has gumption, my progeny. That is a rare breed in these dark times.”

Rey bares her teeth again.

When the young man laughs at her and does the same, his sharp white teeth glinting out at her, she yelps and skitters backwards, her sword quivering in her hand. All around her, the red-eyed beasts start growling and yipping excitedly to one another. There is an eager energy to them that she does not like at all, but she does not have time to question her fate.

Before she can protest, or do so much as raise her blade, the old man disappears. The air shifts and then he is suddenly right beside her, his cold hand closing over her arm.

Rey does not scream. She is far past that point now.

She tries to shove his hand off of her, but his grip is iron tight, to the point where she loses the feeling in her arm. The sword drops to the ground as she raises her hand to slap the beast’s face. He catches her hand in his and then somehow, he is drawing her closer. She fights every second of it, refusing to give up right until the moment he grabs her by the throat.

“Hush now, darling. It’s alright,” the older man tells her in a maddeningly calm tone. The other beasts are screeching to each other, flying through the air and laughing like hyenas. She can barely hear them now; the older man’s yellow eyes take up her vision and then his face descends to her throat. His lips brush her skin as he whispers, “You’re being given a great gift, young one. The greatest gift of all.”

Teeth pierce her skin.

There is pain, bright and flaring. She beats her hand against his head, but it’s like a kitten batting at a lion. The world begins to turn grey and is then funneled down to black. Right before she loses consciousness, she sees the younger man floating in the air above her. His green eyes follow her to the abyss and for a short while, Rey knows no more.


	3. The Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can feel the air again, but strangely there is no sense of temperature. There is only a feeling much like a feather shifting over her skin, like being in a lukewarm bath. Her hair is unbound and when she starts to come to more, she realizes that her hair is covered in dirt. So is her skin and nightdress. Next to her, the ground shifts, like there is someone standing right beside her. There is more whispering, and it is not until another voice, much deeper than the first, responds that she remembers that this is the voice.
> 
> The voice of the man who was a black wolf.
> 
> *** warning for violence and gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image credited to mandapanda770 via Deviant Art.

For a long time, there is only darkness.

Rey does not hear her parents calling out her name. She does not feel the warmth of air, or sunlight. There is only blackness absolute as she drifts along aimlessly, lost to a void of nothingness.

Then, bit by bit, sensation returns to her.

Bitter in her mouth, she can taste copper. There is a thickness that accompanies this taste, a viscous texture that she cannot credit. She chokes a little, coughing as more of that copper taste fills her mouth, until it over brims on her lips and down the sides of her face. Someone murmurs to her, soft and encouraging, and she swallows down the tangy liquid before she can think not to.

She can feel the air again, but strangely there is no sense of temperature. There is only a feeling much like a feather shifting over her skin, like being in a lukewarm bath. Her hair is unbound and when she starts to come to, she realizes that she is covered in dirt. 

Next to her, the ground shifts, like someone is standing right beside her. There is more whispering, and it is not until another voice, much deeper than the first, responds that she remembers that this is _the_ voice.

The voice of the man with the green eyes. The voice of the black wolf.

Even through the fog in her brain, some ingrained instinct cries out at her to get away. Somehow, she keeps her eyes closed even though she is almost fully awake, like she used to when her mother would come to wake her up for her morning chores and she wanted to pretend she was still asleep to steal a few more moments in bed. There are several more footsteps around her and she knows without looking that there are many people standing over her.

And that is when it all returns to her.

Her family and home, torn apart. The red-eyed beasts who followed her through the forest. Her sword, hacking and slashing through them, only for their wounds to heal right before her eyes. The black wolf and the blonde bear, the green and yellow glowing eyes, and the teeth piercing her throat until she fell unconscious…

Rey does not understand yet. She has not noticed a conspicuous lack of heartbeat in her chest, nor has she realized that she does not need to breathe air anymore. The habit is ingrained, though. A muscle memory that she will carry with her for a long time, far longer than most of their kind.

All she knows right now is that those _things_ are standing over her, waiting for her to wake up. To begin their torture anew.

“Did it take, Master?” She does not recognize the person – or thing – who speaks. It’s a male with a nasally English accent that she instantly dislikes.

“Aye, it did,” answers another and this one Rey recognizes all too well. It is the creature with yellow eyes. The one who was a bear and then turned into a middle-aged man. 

The one who bit her.

Rey notices a curious thing just then. Her fear is dulled now; there is no hot, throbbing bladder threatening to spill over. No trembling, no rapid heart rate, no stuttered breathing.

But then, footsteps grow closer to her and she forgets her mysterious observations.

She keeps her eyes closed, ensuring that her body is motionless. Playing dead so that they might abandon her. So that she might live. She has no idea what they did to her while she slept, but she feels no pain. In fact, all the injuries she sustained on her mad dash through the forest do not irk her at all. It is as though they have all healed.

“The hunger will set in soon. Wish she’d hurry it up, though. She’s been out for a while,” a woman says. Her accent is foreign to Rey, but she is hardly attempting to catalogue them at this point. She just wants them to leave her alone long enough so that she might attempt to escape.

A deep, dark chuckle resounds near her feet and although she does not break out in gooseflesh like she would have before, her instincts intensify. She needs to _run_. There is danger in that laughter, for she knows very well that it is the creature who first appeared to her as the black wolf. The gigantic man with the knowing smirk and dark, sparkling eyes.

It takes a lot of effort not to move and follow the intense instincts raging through her, but somehow, she perseveres. She just hopes these beasts go away. Then, she might have a chance to live through this after all.

“What is so funny, brother?” the woman snaps.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about her waking up, Rose,” the dark man says with cunning amusement, “the girl has been awake for a while now.”

Rey can feel the moment when they turn to her. She can feel it in the _air_ ; their intent is like a second skin, oppressive and weighty. They are going to torture her as they did to her family. They're going to tear her apart.

This, more than anything else, has her opening her eyes and scrambling away from them.

It is night when she takes in the sky above, but she knows it is not the same night as when she fought them off. Trees loom all around them, tall and forked like claws into the black sky. She scrambles backwards in the dirt, looking wildly at the nine people staring down at her. She can see their faces clearly, although there is no torch lit. Despite the darkness of the night, she can suddenly see far more than she ever has before.

There are men and women – or things that look like men and women – peering down at her with varying degrees of derision and scorn. The woman she heard speaking before stands closest, her hands still outstretched towards her, only now Rey has scrabbled too far to reach.

 _Rose,_ Rey recalls. _That thing’s name is Rose._

It's the same woman who attacked her last night; the one with the strange almond eyes and black hair. The fact that a creature like this could have a nice, normal name like Rose is dizzying.

There are others here too that she vaguely recognizes. She sees the African man standing next to a tall, sallow-faced man with hair as red as fire. There is the one she stabbed in the face, his hair almost as long as her own, and yet another woman, sneering down at her.

Rey takes them all in and then winces when a bat swoops low overhead. The sound of its screeches is nearly deafening, and it is not until it has flown far away that she can hear again.

“Ah. There she is.”

Rey flinches and peers to her left, finding the dark man, as she has decided to call him, standing apart from the others. He is looking down his nose at her, a smirk quirking his red lips. Out of all of them, he is easily the biggest, both in height and in sheer mass. Even with his cloak and trousers, she can tell he is heavily muscled. His hands are large, the size of her face surely. He wears the same attire she first saw him in, the collar of his cloak sitting high against his chin.

Then, there is movement out of the corner of her eye and when she spins back, it is the older man walking towards her. Fright and something else – something sharper than any brand of anger she has ever felt – curls in her guts and before she can stop herself, she _hisses_ at the man.

The sound is long and low, much like a cornered cat growling and snarling at a threat. She has absolutely no control over the sound she makes – it is like someone has removed her normal reactions and replaced them with that of a beast's. The others laugh at her, the sound loud and offensive to her over-sensitive ears.

However, the older man does not appear in the least bit frightened or offended. He merely pauses, tilting his head down at her with vague interest.

“Yes, you really are a brave little thing, aren’t you?” he muses out loud. “You’ll be strong. I can feel it.”

“Stay away from me,” Rey spits at him, yanking herself to her feet.

Her slippers are gone. She is just in her nightdress and although she should be cold, she feels nothing. Absolutely nothing. Her terror and confusion grow with each passing second. The sounds of the forest are too loud; she can hear trees falling from many miles away, she can hear the wind rustling through the leaves, she can hear animals, even though there are none anywhere near here.

“Come now. You’ll be hungry, dear. Once the hunger sets in, I’m afraid you won’t be rational for quite some time. It’s best if you stay near,” the older man tells her, amiably enough. His accent is strange too, thick like the merchants in the village who migrated from the east. He peers down at her with sympathy, but she does not trust him. She can feel things from him too – a dark, quiet sort of danger that makes her recoil even further from him.

The dark man smirks his little smirk, just behind the older man’s shoulder. His eyes glint oddly in the dark, his irises glowing green like cuts of jade.

Rey stumbles away from them, her head spinning with dizziness as she takes in nothing of her surroundings, yet everything at the same time. Each speck of dirt on her skin seems magnified, like her eyes have magically become looking glasses. She can hear them laughing at her again, can hear the older man speaking to her, but none of it takes.

And then, just when it all becomes too overwhelming, just when she thinks she might start screaming and never stop, a sharp lance of pain shoots through her abdomen, like nothing she’s ever felt before. 

She needs to leave this place. She needs to _run_. That instinct has never been sharper than it is now. 

“It’s coming on already. Isn’t it, darling?”

 _His_ voice breaks through the din and when she looks up, the dark man is standing only a foot away, those strange green eyes looking back at her with malignant knowing.

“What did you do to me?” Rey whispers. Another bolt of pain rips through her stomach and she shrieks, stumbling away from him towards the trees.

She needs to run. She needs to go. What she needs is not here. She cannot hear it – cannot hear the thing that will make this awful pain go away. She needs, she _needs_ …

“I know what you need, little flower _,_ ” the dark man calls to her, as though answering her thoughts. He makes no sound with his passage as he walks after her.

Then, she sees that it is because he is not walking at all. He is _floating_. Just above the ground.

Glowing red eyes flicker through the bushes and it is not until she hears the dark man’s booming laughter behind her that she realizes she has broken into a run. She does not feel the sticks and twigs beneath her feet, does not feel branches whipping against her skin and eyes.

“Oh, come back _mon amour_! Don’t run! We’ll find you, anyway.”

The others are calling out to her too, but she cannot hear them. She can only hear _him_ , only his deep and unnatural voice resonating through the forest. She never tires as she flees. She does not bleed when she steps on sharp stones. Her lungs do not burn from overuse. The trees become a blur, the longer she goes, and the part of her mind still capable of rational thought understands that she is moving far too quickly to be natural.

Something is very wrong with her.

Her stomach is twisted and curled, throbbing with cold agony. She has to find it. She _needs_ it. She is starving in a way she has never experienced. Every cell in her body is honed down to a fine point. Red eyes flicker through the bushes and trees, but she ignores them. Her fear is gone and entirely replaced by this consuming need.

The trees begin to thin out and as she emerges from the forest, she skids to a halt in the grass. Turning her head in every direction, she sniffs the air, like a dog seeking its bone. There is something now. A smell to the air that was not there before. Something sweet and…

And then, she finds it.

*

For a very short while, Rey dreamt of becoming a pirate.

Of course, she had this brief fantasy when she was eight years old and as she grew older and her mother taught her and her sisters what duties would one day be required of them as women and wives, the dream grew dim until it had nearly disappeared entirely.

But her desire for freedom never really went away.

What had always appealed to her in those tales was the bravery of the pirates. Their absolute freedom from obligation. The wind could take them to all corners of the world, and they were beholden to no one. As a woman nearing adulthood, Rey had known what was going to be expected of her. Quite soon, one of the young men would come around from the village and propose, and then, when she was out of the house, her sisters would be next.

But Rey never desired marriage. She did not overly like children and she particularly did not like the idea of a man bossing her around for the rest of her life.

Her mother liked to call her headstrong. Her father liked to call her sensible.

Both things were the same, only Rey had known that her mother was fearful for her. Her hot-headed temper and strong will would get her in trouble, her mother would often bemoan (usually halfway through supper, after she had none so conspicuously hinted that a village boy had been asking after her again and Rey had none so conspicuously hinted that she did not care).

“No man will ever want to marry a girl with such fire in her eyes,” her mother once said, not to her directly, but to the entire dinner table.

At the time, Rey had scowled down at her soup, but that never stopped her mother. She would have her say, regardless of what anyone thought.

“And anyone foolish enough to try will treat it as a sport, taming her. Then all that fire will be gone. I fear for that the most.”

Her mother had been right, in a way.

*

Rey is stumbling through knee-high grass with blood all over her face. Her face is ghastly white and her hazel eyes glowing like pieces of rutilated quartz, all golden and honey. Her nightdress is so badly stained it is more black than white now. Her hair is in a wild tangle about her head and her lips are so red, she looks rather like she’s been hitting hard on the wine.

She looks wild and crazed. 

There is an aura around her that she cannot notice in her state. A flight of danger that makes mice scurry back to their burrows and owls take off into the night. Her gaze is both hazy and desperate, her hand clutching her stomach as she wanders like a drunk at last call towards a tall barn in the middle of a field. Within, orange light glows, lighting up patches of grass where the barn slats have separated.

There are people inside. Rey knows this because the pain in her stomach has told her so. This agony has a voice of its own, driving her forward even when she wants to fall over into the grass, perhaps to stay there forever. But she can’t. She has to keep moving. That sweet scent is only growing more intense and she knows it will bring her what she needs.

What she so desperately craves.

Men’s voices fill the night air, but this does not stop her. In fact, this only makes her move faster. They are speaking a rough dialect of French, but she is not really listening to what they say. Beneath their chatter, she can hear a new sound.

_Thwump, thwump, thwump._

The relentless beating strikes a chord in her guts and churns her bitter and savage hunger into something unfathomable. Into something _ravenous_. Drool pools down her chin and onto the dirty planes of her breastbone. Her pale hands settle on the barn doors, her fingernails much longer than they had been the night before, and then with almost so effort at all, she shoves the doors open hard enough that they slam against either wall and disintegrate into a thousand pieces.

Inside, three men jolt to their feet. They are sitting around a makeshift fire and have a rabbit roasting on a spit.

“Whoa, girl! You gave us a scare,” one of the men calls to her in broken French, staring at her with alarm.

Rey does not answer them. Her hunger is consuming now, and a low sound leaves her mouth, much like a growl. She is not looking anywhere near the rabbit.

_Thwump, thwump, thwump._

She stares at the three men and then her eyes are _blazing_ with hellish light. Her lips curl back from her teeth and that is when the men begin screaming. One picks up a torch that is unlit and waves in front of himself, much like she did with her silver sword less than twenty-four hours ago.

_Thwump, thwump, thwump._

Rey is in no frame of mind to appreciate the irony as she stumbles into the barn. There is the beat of their hearts, resounding in her very blood and marrow, and right before her vision turns red and she descends into a mad haze of violence and starvation, she can hear _him_ again.

 _The hunger comes for us all, little one,_ the dark man whispers in her head, but by then she is not listening anymore. By then she does not even remember her name, or how old she is. 

By then, she has become something else entirely.

*

It is like no time has passed.

In one moment, Rey remembers entering the barn and seeing three frightened men inside, and in the next, she is laying in a pile of hay. The hunger is blessedly gone, but there are no memories that comes with her wakefulness.

She blinks, her face screwing up in a confused frown. It is dark and when she moves to shove the hay away from her face, she realizes she is _underneath_ the pile of hay. She turns over, paddling through the straws like she is swimming in the pond behind her house, and when she emerges from the pile, she finds herself laying on a dirt floor. Above her, she can see moonbeams filtering in through shoddy wooden beams.

She is still in the barn.

“What…” she whispers and then holds her hands in front of her face.

In the next instant, Rey sits up quickly, a low cry of dismay echoing across the barn. Her hands are covered with blood and when she looks down at herself, she realizes that her gown is covered as well. Blood even reaches her legs, her skin speckled and splashed crimson.

“ _What,_ ” she repeats, rapidly getting to her feet and spinning around in a circle.

Then, she sees the men – or, more accurately, what is left of them.

On the ground nearby is a tangle of limbs. Near the back corner of the barn, she can see a torso with no limbs or head attached to it. A lone foot sits near the pile of hay she climbed out of her. Even from where she is standing, she can see teeth marks on it. There is blood everywhere; on herself, on the walls, on the ground, and impossibly, on the ceiling as well.

“ _No_ ,” Rey says, once and in a very small voice. 

She cannot tear her eyes away from the blood spatter on the ceiling. The roof is at least twenty feet high – far above where anyone would be able to reach. Aside from the carcasses of the three men, she is the only one inside the barn, which means…

“ _No, no, no_ ,” she repeats, her eyes burning with tears. She goes to wipe them away, only to scream in horrified surprise.

Fresh drops of blood cover her fingers, wet and _cold_. And it’s coming from her. She is crying _blood_. She is a _monster_.

Then, from behind her, comes the unmistakable sound of someone tutting.

Rey spins around, her expression screwed up into one of abject misery and horror. But what finds does little to reassure her. Standing at the entrance to the barn, she can see them all. Red eyes glow back at her from the darkness outside. Tittering laughter greets her ears and she clenches her hands into fists, rage overtaking all her other shock-tinged emotions because that has always been easiest for her.

“ _W_ _hat in God’s name did you do to me_?” she shrieks at them, so loudly, the barn creaks in protest and the carnage behind her shifts on the ground. 

“My dear, God had nothing to do with it.”

Rey swallows thickly, not quite backing away when two familiar men enter the barn.

The dark man does not say a word; he merely looks her up and down, and grins, like she is the most amusing thing he has ever seen. The older man, the one who bit her and turned her into this _thing_ is not smiling, but his eyes are not overly kind either.

“What did you do?” Rey whispers, new tears streaming in gory lines down her pale face.

“I shall tell you later.” The old man places his hands in his pockets, his chin raised imperiously at her. “No more running, Rey. It is time to accept your fate, the same as all those who have been given the gift before you.”

Rey looks from him and to the glowing red eyes outside, and then finally to the dark man. She feels small as she regards them all. Weak and pitiful. There is nowhere left for her to go. Nowhere left for her to run to. They will always find her, just like the dark man told her.

“At least…” she trails off, folding her lips together to prevent herself from breaking into sobs. Voice broken with defeat, she closes her eyes and then opens them, pulling in a fortifying breath she does not need because there is no need to breathe anymore. 

The old man stares back at her with something that is supposed to resemble patience and she tries again.

“At least tell me who you people are. At least tell me _what_ you are.”

But it is the dark man who answers her this time, his eyes glowing with merry mischief and blistering malice. His dark hair shifts like raven’s feathers and his plush lips curve in a crooked grin.

“We are the Skywalker Clan,” he tells her, his voice is deep and resonating as ever, “We are a family of greatness and royalty.” He steps further into the barn, smirking when she skitters away from him. “We are the same as you, _lila_. Children of the night and creatures of the shadows.”

“I don’t understand,” Rey whispers and there is something quite hateful about those words. About her lack of comprehension. Her stomach stirs with renewed hunger, but for the time being, she disregards it as she stares helplessly at the two men who have irrevocably changed her life forever.

“I am Luke Skywalker. I am your sire and maker, my child,” the older man says, joining the dark man’s side to regard her. “And these are my children. _You_ are my child.”

At his words, the others outside begin to jeer and howl and screech into the night. Rey pulls her arms around herself, quivering like a lost lamb before a pack of wolves.

Only she knows better now. She is one of them.

“And we,” Luke Skywalker tells her with a twisted smile, “are vampires.”


	4. Full Dark, No Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, they were – what – your new family?”
> 
> Poe Dameron draws Rey out of the woods of the past and back into the barren white apartment. The phone on the table between them is still recording away, and she peers at it thoughtfully for a moment, before looking up into his mesmerized eyes.
> 
> “Yes and no.”
> 
> *We finally get some introductions to Rey's new "family" and she gets somewhat of an explanation of what she has now become. 
> 
> ****Warning ahead for unwanted touching and entering in one's personal space. Be forewarned that these vampires are not nice, especially in the beginning. 
> 
> Next chapter we get more Kylo and Rey interaction!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First image by kupiekorzenny on Deviant Art. 
> 
> Second image by Avali - really one of the best pieces I have seen for Finn. 
> 
> Third image Dmytro Krutko, Art Station. 
> 
> I am a visual person, so I really enjoy incorporating some lovely art with this story, just to highlight my own visualizations and ideas. :D

“So, they were – what – your new family?”

Poe Dameron draws Rey out of the woods of the past and back into the barren white apartment. The phone on the table between them is still recording away, and she peers at it thoughtfully for a moment, before looking at him.

“Yes and no.”

He frowns with confusion and she smiles her secret smile, inwardly musing that things are always so black and white for humans. 

“But… If Luke Skywalker made you – well – into what you are…?”

“Then he must be my father?” she finishes for Poe, with a hint of sarcasm.

He gulps, eyeing her nervously, but she forestalls his fear with a placating shake of her head.

“Your questions are fair. Believe me, I had many of them when I was first made.” Rey pauses here, staring down at the table without really seeing it.

She is thinking of her first night with them, what would become her clan. She is thinking of many things, but she promised this man a story and stories are often best told in order if only to spare the living confusion. When she returns her gaze to Poe’s, she folds her hands into a steeple under her chin, leaning over on the table to smirk at him. He looks fearful again, his gaze flitting from her glittering eyes to the sharp points of her canines.

This will not do. She needs his attention completely fixed on the story. She could glamour him, but that would take the fun out of it. She rather likes his wonder and awe, a whole lot more than his fear.

“I promised I wouldn’t kill you,” Rey says quietly, almost gently, “and I intend to keep that promise.”

“But you would have if you didn't have a story to tell me. Wouldn’t you?” Poe asks, just as quietly. 

She cannot help but be charmed by his honesty. Most humans would have lost their mind with fear by now.

She shrugs, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe. Maybe not. All you need to concern yourself with is that I won’t. Now, let’s get back to it shall we?”

He digests her words and then nods once, staring at the unnatural white of her skin with equal parts weariness and awe. “So, does holy water burn your skin, or is that just in the movies?”

Rey smirks. “Not at all. Crosses are a fallacy too. We can enter churches – we can enter pretty much any abode we want to. Unless they’ve been warded against us.”

“Warded?”

“Protection spells, enchantments, some hexes too,” she murmurs with a shrug, completely uncaring of the slack-jawed look on his face, “but for the most part, we go where we please.”

“What about sunlight? Do you glitter like Robert Pattinson, or burst into flames?” 

Poe asks this so carelessly, that she is surprised that even after all these centuries the question still hurts.

But he does not need to know that.

“I’m afraid daylight is out for my kind. We do not fare well in the sun.” She nods indulgently when he laughs, but really, she is already back in the past, back in the horror of self-discovery and self-loathing.

 _But it was not always that way. You had your fun, too, lila,_ a traitorous voice in her head whispers.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like _him_.

“Right well,” he says, laughing uneasily, “you don’t strike me as the sunbathing type. No offence, but I have white walls at home that are darker than your skin.”

Rey smirks.

“Oh, and coffins?” he asks, almost as an afterthought. He is grinning at the silliness of it, but her smirk promptly vanishes.

She looks away from him again. The wood of the table is dark, almost mahogany. Like the first coffin she ever slept in. They had buried her, the night they made her. Left her in the ground until the transformation took. But on the second night, they had given her a coffin to sleep in.

She still hates it, to this very day.

“Coffins,” Rey murmurs aloud, “those, sadly, are a necessity.”

And so, she continues her tale.

*

She does not know how long they travel for once they leave the barn and the carnage within behind. She is still covered in blood and gore, and more than anything else, she longs for a bath, if only to wash away the evidence of her savagery.

Luke Skywalker has taken her by the arm and now they _are soaring_ through the night. They fly well above the forest, the treetops appearing small and very far away to her. The village is far behind her now, and as they fly, she feels like she is lost to a strange and unknowable abyss, with only these mad monsters as her guides. The others fly around her, emitting high-pitched skittering sounds like bats. 

Rey knows she should be frightened of flying so high above the ground, with these _things_ no less, but she has descended into a grey fog of apathy and hunger. Not even the grief of losing her family seems to touch her as they make their perilous journey over the French countryside. 

Somewhere ahead, she spots a large black shape leading them through the sky. It is _him_. The dark man, for which she still does not have a name.

She only knows of the woman named Rose and her… Maker. A part of her wants to fly into another panic at that very word alone. To tear away from this flock of unsightly beasts and fall away to the earth. To be crushed by gravity’s scoring weight and become one with the dead leaves. To rejoin her family, now rotting away in the house that was once her home.

But a larger part of her is _starving_ again. The hunger has returned, not quite as sharp as it was earlier, but still poignant. She has a dreadful hunch that this will be a feeling she will have to grow accustomed to.

 _I will not kill again,_ she vows to herself.

The new dark half of her mind merely growls in response. It only cares about the hunger, bottomless and full of eternal gluttony.

Besides, she could flee from her captors, but they would only find her again. For now, until she figures out a way to reverse whatever black magic they have cast over her, she will have to remain with them. Maybe she can learn more about them, discover their weaknesses and destroy them when they are not looking. They must sleep sometime.

Finally, they begin to descend.

The dark man and his dark siblings land on the ground first, none of them making a sound with their landing. The ground rushes towards Rey and Luke and then she _is_ frightened for an instant, right before her bare feet touch down on a dirt road. The landing is not harsh like she thought it would be. She and Luke merely land softly on the ground and then he is steering her down the winding road before she even has time to get her bearings.

Once again, she is moving far more quickly than is natural, though some of this can be attributed to Luke tugging her along in his wake. It seems that they are only the road for several seconds until they come upon a large, towering manor.

Rey stares up at it in awe, momentarily forgetting her hunger.

Her home with her family had been by no means modest; they had always been able to afford servants and separate living quarters for their help. Each of the seven children had a bedroom to themselves, which was unheard of for a large family living essentially in the woods.

The manor, however, makes her childhood home look like a dollhouse in comparison. The spires tower to the stars, it seems, where she can see a full moon partially clouded over. The roof appears to be made from copper, though it is badly rusted. The windows are all glass, some stained different colours like the church in Rey’s village. There is a fountain in the center of a large, sprawling courtyard, but it is not running. In fact, the water sitting in the basin looks black with mold. The garden is in a similar state, all the foliage dead and withered, as though the manor is sucking the life force out of everything around it. The estate is massive – she has no idea how many rooms it has. She wagers quite a few.

Then, she notices a peculiar thing.

All the windows are shuttered and those that are not appear to have been painted over with black paint. She lingers on the windows, but then Luke has grabbed her forearm with one repulsively cold hand and he is lugging her into the main entrance.

As the others follow after them, one of the men leans towards Rey to sniff her hair. 

Without forethought or warning, she reacts the same way she had with Luke earlier that night; her face twists into a snarl and she hisses at the man, like an angry cat. She cannot help the reaction – it’s a knee-jerk instinct, rallying at her to get him away from her.

The man only tips back his head and laughs in response. She vaguely recognizes him from the other night. He is the one she stabbed in the foot with her sword. Minutely, she wonders where the sword ended up, but she quickly forgets this when Luke lets go of her arm and suddenly lunges at the man who invaded her personal space.

In a rush of movement too fast to track, Luke is suddenly standing before the long-haired man. He promptly backhands him, but the effect is like nothing Rey has ever seen before. The man _sails_ through the air and crashes into the staircase on the other side of what she realizes is a large foyer. The floors are granite and the walls are paneled with wood and fine silk. Candles are lit in small cradles along the wall and above them, a tarnished candelabra glows with yellow light.

Everyone goes silent. No one laughs or makes so much as a sound.

Rey glares at the man, whose eyes are glowing red and whose face is screwed up with anger as he flies up off the floor to float in the air like he might attack Luke.

“Settle down, Mitaka,” Luke says quietly. His eyes flash yellow for the briefest instant. He does not raise his voice, but then he does not have to.

Even the others look abashed – all except the dark man, who must have left them already to go to another part of the manor.

She is privately grateful for this.

“I was just getting acquainted,” Mitaka growls from several feet in the air before he drifts back to the floor. He, too, has a strange accent, yet another that is different from the others she has heard so far. She thinks it sounds vaguely Eastern European, but she cannot begin to guess from where.

“She smells sweet,” another of the vampires’ simper, this one a blonde woman that Rey has yet to notice. 

“If you’re into that sort of thing, Kaydel,” the red-headed vampire comments with a haughty sigh. Rey does not have the presence of mind to be offended, but then the blonde woman - Kaydel - is leaning towards her to sniff at her, as Mitaka had done.

Rey growls and spits at her, backing away and her teeth peeking out through her lips.

“ _Oooo_ , you are feisty,” the one called Rose coos. She is standing by the staircase when she had not been a second ago. Her eyes glitter with malice as she smirks down at her. “She smells like apricots. Wonder if she tastes like apricots as well.”

The Black man laughs at this, the sound eerily high-pitched. He leans into the red-headed man next to him, whispering lowly in his ear. The red-headed man growls a response, the sound low and inexplicably sensual. They stand very close together, their faces inches apart, and Rey swears that she sees the Black man nuzzle the red-headed man’s cheek.

Well… That would explain the redhead's comment about her, she supposes. Not that she remotely _cares_. She wants these beasts to stay the hell away from her.

Still, as she watches the two men start to kiss, if she could blush right now she would be. Her skin remains the same pale hue it has been since she awoke on the ground tonight. No heat fills her cheeks, although she feels some vague species of embarrassment all the same.

Fingertips brush against her arm and on her waist, and she spins around, lashing out with her hands like claws at the vampires nearest to her.

“ _Stay away from me_!” Rey screams at them, only for them to laugh at her once more.

Luke, however, does not look amused. 

“Leave us, you heathens. _Now,_ ” he growls when a few of them show signs of protesting. “This is no way to treat your new sister.”

Forgetting the others, Rey puffs up to her (not considerate) full height, and seethes at him, “I am _not_ their sister.”

Luke peers back at her and she flinches, expecting him to backhand her too, but he only smirks. “These are your siblings now, Rey. The only siblings you will ever have.”

 _He knows my name,_ she thinks, with her disgust slow to fade. _How does he know my name?_

“It is one of many dark gifts I have,” Luke replies to her thoughts out loud, making her sputter and back away from him fearfully. He looks supremely unconcerned by her fear as he straightens his cloak and aims one final hard look at the one called Mitaka.

After that, the others seem to dematerialize. There is no other way for Rey to describe it – in one moment, they are standing in the foyer, and in the next, they are all gone, leaving the two of them alone.

She does not know whether to be unnerved that they are alone now, or relieved.

Luke approaches a double-set of oak doors as tall as the high ceiling. He pushes one of these doors open and then pauses to look back at her expectantly.

“Come with me, child.”

“I am not your child,” she says emphatically, only now there are tears clogging up her throat. She can _taste_ them; all bitter and coppery, like the blood of those three men she killed.

“But you are,” he whispers to her. 

“I… I don’t understand!” She hates the shaky quality of her voice, but it is there again. That faint, almost dull fear that is nothing like how she used to feel. She has changed in ways she is only just beginning to comprehend. Whatever Luke did to her, she can feel it.

“Let’s get you a change of clothes and a wash. Then, we can talk.”

Luke stares back at her, utterly calm, and though she finds his cool exterior maddening, she knows she has no choice.

Somehow, she staves away her tears, and with her hands clenched into fists, she crosses the foyer to him. He leads her through a large room that looks like a study, and then they enter another corridor and take it until they come upon a large bathroom. Sitting on top of a large marble sink is a new change of clothes.

Rey peers around the room, but she does not see anyone else inside. When she looks at the large iron tub, she sees it is already full of hot water. Steam rises in the air as she stares at the tub suspiciously.

“Who drew the bath?” she asks, but when she turns around, Luke is already halfway out the door.

“Get washed and dressed,” he murmurs to her. All she can see of him in the corridor are a pair of glowing yellow eyes. The effect is highly disconcerting. “Meet me in the study when you are done. There we will _palaver_ if you like.”

Then, he is gone.

Rey closes the door and locks it for good measure. Although she checks the room thoroughly, there are no weapons she can stash away. There is only a bar of whale-fat soap by the tub and her new clothes. She examines them, running her fingers over the silk and lace. The dress is dark royal blue, almost indigo in colour. A pair of black flats sit on the floor by the tub and a small ivory brush sits by the sink on top of a black towel.

With a sigh, she lifts her nightgown over her head and after a moment of indecision, leaves it on the floor. When she gets in the bath, she cannot say she even enjoys it. She cannot feel the temperature of the water. It is simply wet, simply a vague sensation without much substance.

And soon the water turns dark red.

*

Rey’s hair is damp when she emerges from the bathroom. The dress and shoes fit perfectly, which unnerves her more than anything else that has happened this evening. Who made her clothing? Who drew the bath when they had all just returned moments ago? And how in the world did they know what size to hem the gown to fit her so perfectly?

_This was all planned. They saw me before they killed my family. Stalked us all and chose me…_

Rey pauses in the hallway, her eyes going wide at the intrusive thought. It is _her_ thought, but there is something shrewd about it. Something foreign in that way in which she thinks it. Like this is a new version of her, double-speaking in her mind; a new intuition with a dark lens of the world.

These are troubling thoughts, but she has far more important things to concern herself with. She is expected to live here, in this ancient castle, with the very creatures who murdered her family. With the very things that have turned her into one of them…

When Rey finds the study again, entering it with equal parts apprehension and budding anger, Luke is sitting in a chair near a roaring fire. He looks almost like a statue and after a minute, she realizes why.

He is not breathing. He is not moving at all, in fact.

She halts at the threshold, and when the door suddenly sweeps closed behind her with a bang, she yelps with surprise.

“Apologies,” Luke murmurs, his features coming to life as he speaks. “Your lingering humanity will make things difficult to understand for a while. Soon, though, you will be as we are.”

“Which is?” Rey asks stiffly.

Her hair is loose and falls almost to her waist. This fact had caused her much alarm when she first emerged from the bathtub. Her hair had recently been cut by her mother – to her shoulders. Now her silky brown locks trailed to her waist, wavier than they had been before. Soft and silky, even when wet. She has not seen herself in a mirror yet and she is rather dreading the prospect. What other changes have affected her appearance?

“It is a part of the becoming. Your appearance has changed to adapt to your new immortality,” Luke says out loud, once again responding to her thoughts. She stiffens, but he waves her off dismissively. “Come and sit, Rey. The sun will be up soon, and it will not do for us to be awake when it rises.”

Rey stares back at him, watching the way the fire creates morphing shadows across his face. She sees many things in that span of seconds, things that she would never be able to describe out loud; she sees the head of a bear sitting atop Luke’s shoulders, she sees what she is pretty certain is the likeness of Jesus Christ, and lastly she sees her father, as he had been right before he died.

Each of these apparitions is fleeting; flickering like a shutter click. She is simultaneously convinced she did not see anything at all, that it was a mere trick of light and shadow, while she is also paradoxically convinced that each of the things she saw is really there.

Her gown whispers over the floor when she finally crosses the room to her Maker. She sits in the chair across from him, attempting to remain composed and calm when everything in her is screaming for more blood. When she is seated and Luke sees that her attention is fully fixed on him, he begins what is to be a rather short and inadequate lesson on his kind.

And what is now ultimately Rey’s kind as well.

*

“We do not age. We do not get sick. We heal from all injuries. We can never die, at least, not in the way humans do. The life you knew – the joys of sunlight, food, drink, and human companionship – it is over now.”

There is a lulled quality to the horror Rey experiences at Luke’s words. She wonders then if he has put some spell over her. To keep her in her seat until he has his say. He is very old – she does not need him to tell her that. She can sense it from him. He has centuries on her. Maybe a millennium.

But Rey never finds out exactly how old he is.

“What would happen if I stayed awake for the sunrise?” she asks, fixating on this minor detail because to linger on any of the others is to invite insanity. 

“You would likely collapse before the sun even crests the eastern skies,” Luke replies, rather mildly for someone who is telling her that she will never be able to see the sun again. “But if you somehow managed to stay awake and you were in a room with an open window, or outside in the elements - then the sun would burn you until there were only ashes left. The True Death, as we call it.”

“And… what I did to those…?” Rey cannot finish her sentence. There is no heat in her face like what would normally precede crying, but she feels a recurrence of tears all the same.

All it takes is for her to remember what happened when she cried earlier, and she somehow stays the emotion. She does not want to weep bloody tears again.

“You must change your view.” Luke folds his hands in his lap and reclines back in his chair. “Humans are food. They are prey. And we are their hunters.”

A ragged breath escapes her lungs and she closes her eyes in agony. This cannot be really happening. Maybe she is still in bed, still dreaming, and then mama will come to wake her to start her morning chores. She will lecture her on not finding a husband yet and things will be right again.

A cold hand creeps over hers and her eyes snap open.

Luke has crossed the space between them without making a sound. He is now kneeling at her feet and he does not look remotely sympathetic. Now that his eyes are not glowing yellow, she has discovered that they are a flat green. Almost grey, a non-colour that suits his chilly demeanor.

“This is real, Rey. The sooner you accept that the easier your becoming will be.”

“My becoming,” she repeats through a mouth that feels like it has been stuffed with sheep’s cotton.

“You are a vampire now, of a great lineage of vampires. The Skywalker Clan has been around since time out of mind and now, you are a progeny of that line.” Luke squeezes her hand, but she can hardly feel it. She does not feel much of anything at that moment. “You will drink blood to exist, you will avoid the sun at all costs, and you will never age. You will always remain in this form, impervious to the coils of mortals. Disease will never kill you. Ageing will never kill you. And any relations you have with humans will cease. They can never know about our kind for we are at most vulnerable during the day, and so they are at their most advantageous over us during the day.”

She is still reeling from the blood-drinking part. For the rest of her existence, she will have to prey on the living. On innocents, as these beasts had done to her and her family.

“Silver,” Rey says suddenly, remembering her short-lived resistance in the forest.

To her surprise, Luke smiles. She had thought he might look more human, but somehow it only makes things worse. His fangs are clearly visible and that deadness in his eyes remains, like looking at a doll’s black, lifeless eyes.

“Ah, yes. Silver will weaken us, but it cannot kill us.” This is a lie - but not one she will puzzle out for a very long time. 

“Too bad,” she replies before she can think not to.

Luke’s ghastly smile only widens. “You’ll come around, my dear. You’ll see. Your siblings will show you what it means to be a Skywalker.”

“Who is he?” It is rushed the way she says this. Rushed and hushed, like to speak of him too loudly might summon him here. 

“Ah. You mean Kylo?”

Kylo - what a strange name. It sounds archaic, somehow. Ancient and vaguely threatening. 

Rey can only manage a nod.

“He was the first vampire I made. The eldest of my progeny and the most powerful too. I feel you will learn a great deal from him.”

Rey privately thinks that she is going to do everything she can to stay the hell away from Kylo, and judging by the knowing glint in Luke’s eyes, he has overheard this thought as well.

“You will be introduced to the others soon. Now, my dear, it is time to rest. The sun approaches.”

Luke goes to draw away, but Rey catches his hand in hers. The movement is fast – that much she can discern – but she is already losing touch with her previous mortal movements. With the slowness of humanity.

“Why me?” There is a desperation to that question. A pleading in her eyes. “Why did you do this to me? Tell me.”

Luke’s smile fades a little, but not entirely. It is enough to give her an uneasy feeling, deep in those mysterious instincts she has only just inherited.

“It is time to turn in,” he replies instead, evading her question.

He leads her from the room not long after, extinguishing the fire with just a wave of his hand. She follows after him, sleepy even though dawn is still a little ways away. For the following centuries, she will puzzle over that last question, until one day she finally gives up on it entirely.

Luke will never tell her why he turned her, just as he will never tell her a great many things that might have saved them all a lot of misery in the end.

*

Rey is claustrophobic already, lying flat on the uneven wood of what is to be her bed.

“Why coffins?” She keeps her hand over the lid of the coffin to prevent Luke from closing it, but he only shushes her, easily moving her hand away.

“This is a guarantee the light will not get in, but if you’re ever stuck in the elements, a hole in the ground will work just as well.” His eyes sparkle and she knows without asking that the night he turned her, they had buried her in the ground. That was why her hair and clothes had been covered in so much dirt. “Rest now, Rey. Tomorrow night, we will take you into the city and show you what it means to be a vampire.”

She thinks that he means to be reassuring, but she feels anything but. She does not want to kill anyone else and as he slides the coffin lid closed and she is enveloped in darkness, she feels that rest will never come.

She is wrong, of course. 

Not two minutes after Luke leaves her there, she falls into a deep black sleep in which she does not dream or stir.


	5. City of Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, as though in an opium-induced stupor, Rey feels some of her will reassert itself, enough so that she can locate exactly where he is in her mind.
> 
> And then she begins to push back.  
> 
> 
> ***Warning ahead for death and feeding behaviour, and unwanted touching. 
> 
> We begin to see more of the enigmatic "dark man" and learn, very quickly, that this is not a creature to be trifled with...
> 
> But maybe, neither is Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnnd finally, some amazing images of the dark man himself. 
> 
> First image - "Of men and moons" by jodeeeart on Tumblr. 
> 
> Second image - "I feel it too." by VoodooVal.

When Rey awakens, there is only the fine grain of wood to greet her eyes. Cheap, imitation mahogany; dark like the pit where her soul once resided.

Rey shoves the coffin lid away, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Elsewhere in the Manor, she cannot yet hear the others even though she can sense that they are near. The hunger is what strikes her the strongest of all; a tugging, insatiable urge that rips across her body and briefly makes her vision tremble to crimson.

In the seconds before she hauls herself out of the coffin, she longs for home. She briefly entertains the notion that this might yet be a dream. A dream within a dream. But she has awoken at night in a coffin - not in the safety of her bed, not with a heart that beats and a pulse that thrums.

She is this _thing_ , now. And it is time to get up.

Rey climbs from the coffin, her dress wrinkled from her slumber and her hair ruffled in the back. She hardly cares what her appearance is, for she knows that _they_ must be up now too. That her Maker will likely come for her, to show her what it is to be a creature of the night.

And that _he_ will be out there too. Kylo, as Luke had called him.

Rey does not know what kind of a name Kylo is, only that it is not French or English. The name sounds exotic to her – as exotic as the accents of most of the beasts she is to call brothers and sisters. She peers around the room, her lip curling in disgust. She will _never_ call those fiends siblings. She will never call them her kin, no matter what Luke tells her of this supposed great Skywalker Clan. And she certainly will never go with them to wherever it is they plan to take her tonight because she knows what will happen if they do.

They will kill humans. They will _feed_. And she will inevitably do so as well, whether by choice or not. But, as the hunger pains intensify and she doubles over with a hoarse cry, the thrum in her veins will not allow her to stay stationary in this room.

The blood, she will soon learn, rules all.

These things she tells herself, these little vows to uphold innocence and her own dignity – well, they will only be the first of many lies she will tell herself in the coming months, years, decades…

Centuries.

*

Rey does not remember how she got outside.

It is like the other night all over again when she fled through the woods and found herself in front of that barn. Only now, she has only made it as far as the bramble strewn courtyard they came through last night. She remembers being in her room, a small space that had no furniture or wall hangings, or much of anything besides the coffin. Then the pain had grown so intense, she had screamed with it.

Now, she finds herself outside.

There are no stars tonight. Clouds cover the sky in a dark blanket, and she is left in the shadows of the courtyard. Sounds are piercing; she can hear owls calling to one another forlornly, she can hear bats in the distance, and the rush of wind through the trees. It is the same as before, this strange heightening of her senses.

Rey stumbles past the fountain and eyes the tops of the trees when the sound of the branches rubbing together threatens to fracture her skull. She covers her ears, her teeth barred in an unconscious snarl. She spins in a confused circle, trying to get her bearings, trying to make sense of the things she can now hear, feel, and _smell_ that she never could before but the sensation is dizzying.

She needs to feed. She needs…

“You’ll get used to it, _lila_.”

Rey spins around, her hackles rising. But the hunger has blinded her in more ways than one and she realizes she is about to fall to the ground. A strong pair of hands grab her arms, catching her before she meets the earth. Then she is hauled, up and up and _up,_ until she realizes she is no longer on the ground anymore but high in the air.

And it is not Luke who is staring down at her.

It is _him_ , his eyes glowing green and two sharp incisors peeking out between his red, sensuous lips. Rey freezes in his grasp, drawing in a ragged, fearful breath.

Kylo’s gaze is rapt on her chest when he sees her take that unnecessary breath and his grin only widens. He wears all black again, his long jacket unbuttoned, with the collar sitting high on his throat. His skin is whiter than goat’s milk – whiter, she reckons than all his brothers and sisters as well. These are the only details she takes in as a grey haze of horror and shock courses through her.

Before she can think of anything to say, to demand he let her go or to even scream, she is yanked closer to him. His green eyes take up almost her entire vision and she is… mesmerized. She can feel him in her mind, unearthing memories and rifling through her tangled emotions that are now solely centered around one thing.

Blood. She needs it. It is beyond a craving. Beyond a want. It is _vital_. It is _everything_.

But that need is dulled under his unnerving gaze. She tries to think of other things to throw him off, even though her hunger is written all over her face. She thinks of a painting her father once bought her; it depicted a seemingly endless ocean stretched across the canvas, and in the center was a small island. When she was little, she fantasized about taking a pirate ship to that island and living there forever, where no one would tell her she had to marry, that she had to make a family, or that she had to do anything she did not want to do.

“Ah yes,” Kylo murmurs mockingly. His deep voice makes her shudder in his arms. “I see it. I see the island.”

Rey grasps his arms tighter, her will slipping away bit by bit, but somehow, she hangs on by a thread. She does not think about how precariously high off the ground they are (even though if she were to fall, she would not even get a scrape). She does not think about this dangerous creature holding her in his arms, or that he is twice her size or the cruel little smile on his face like she is some little mouse for him to bat around until he grows bored and decides to devour her whole. Slowly, as though in an opium-induced stupor, Rey feels some of her will reassert itself, enough so that she can locate exactly where he is in her mind.

And then she begins to push back.

He makes a sound that might have been surprise, his eyes flashing as she feels that terrifying and invisible cord between them begin to give. Begin to bend back his way.

“Get _out_ of my head,” Rey seethes at him. Then, she can hear him, only it is not out loud. It is hardly a whisper of a thought, but then _she_ is the one leaning towards him until their noses brush. He is not smiling anymore and right before she is unceremoniously tossed from his mind, she snags on what she is looking for and whispers, “ _Vandalirice_.”

His grip tightens around her arms and he looks… speculative.

Rey sags in his grasp, her hunger returning with a vengeance and that strange moment of power gone. She is helpless and she knows it. Furthermore, she has no idea what that word meant. It had just been there, like a gem found in the black soil of his mind. She does not know if she angered him by uttering it, only that he had not expected her to say it. To _find_ it.

And so, Rey waits, trembling like a new born fawn.

To her surprise, Kylo only grins at her, his eyes dancing with merry mischief.

“Oh, you are going to be interesting, _lila._ ”

Then he throws his head back to laugh at the endless black sky, only his laughter is unnaturally loud and deep, resonating into her very bones.

*

They bring her to Paris.

The streets are made of clay, mud, and loose gravel. Only in the more affluent parts of Paris have they bothered to pave the streets in cobbled stone. On their journey through the city streets, past scantily dressed women who coo and simper and eye them in a beady way that makes Rey vaguely uncomfortable, she feels as though her feet hardly touch the ground. She is lost to the hunger now, her insides curling and twisting in protest.

Luke leads their party and the others walk alongside her. She has learned all their names by now.

Rose, whom she recalls from her first night, is from the Orient, though Rey is not sure of which kingdom. Rose seems to especially dislike her, though she has no idea why that could be. Then, there is Hux (the red-headed vampire) and Finn (the African vampire). The two seem to be a couple. Hux seems to detest everything that is not Finn and Finn is quiet and watchful. He has not said much to her and she is more than happy to keep it that way. The others are just as cruel and dim-witted as the inbred dogs her neighbours used to breed. Bazine and Kaydel are vapid and insidious; the former has long black hair and high cheekbones, and the latter is blonde, English and severely arrogant. Mitaka and Jango remain the most elusive to her.

She catalogues their names and hopes that she will not have to spend too much close time with any of them. Especially Rose. 

All of them surround her in a rough oval, though she doubts this is for protection. They do not want to chase after her again, especially not through a city where they would attract a lot of unwanted attention.

But they _are_ attracting attention, regardless.

Men, women, even the occasional child – they all turn to look at them as they pass. Rey knows why. They do not quite have an aura around them, but there is that feeling all the same. A turn of delicious danger, igniting instincts in a conflicting roil of arousal, fear, and curiosity.

She is beginning to understand, if only a little, what makes them so different from humans.

But if they are attracting this kind of attention, then Kylo is a _beacon_ in comparison. He walks just ahead of Rey, his broad and expansive back like a wall between her and the whole wide vulnerable world she hungers for. The others mostly walk in pairs. Hux and Finn walk with their arms looped together and large, snide grins on their faces. Kaydel and Mitaka are holding hands and Rose is somewhere behind Rey, glaring at her back. She can _feel_ her doing it and the sensation makes her uneasy. Bazine and the one named Jango are speaking just behind Rey and every so often she feels one of them reach out to tug on her hair. 

At this point, she has decided to ignore them, even though every time they touch her she wants to rip their tongues out of their mouths and stuff them down their throats. She is also certain they know exactly how angry they make her and they remain completely uncaring of that fact. 

Yet Kylo walks alone, like Luke. There is an Alphaness to him that the others lack. 

Rey can feel this quite strongly, more than any mere mortal ever could. But the humans can feel it too, even if they do not realize it. All their eyes – those men, women and children – linger on Kylo the longest and for all the world, he acts supremely unimpressed by this fact. He does not walk with an overconfident swagger as Hux and Mitaka do, nor does he elbow or bowl his way through the crowds as Kaydel and Rose seem fond of doing. His steps are plodding, almost graceless, but there is a calculatedness about the way he moves that reminds her of a feline.

The crowds simply _part_ for him, as though he has everyone under his silent command.

His presence is almost more consuming than Luke’s this way, though Rey cannot tell if this is just due to his sheer size. Kylo is easily the tallest man she has ever met, and the broadest as well. Even without the advantage of height, he stands out. He looks just exotic enough – with his creamy skin, beauty-marked face, his strong, sensual mouth and those raven-wing locks – that there is a great deal of interest from nearly everyone they pass by.

And a great deal of wariness as well.

Finally, in what feels like hours later, they finally settle on a tavern. Only, she quickly discovers, this is no regular tavern. The women who work here wear thin lace. Their breasts heave over their corsets (those that are even bothering to wear corsets that is), and there is some kind of obscene play happening near what she assumes to be a bar. A tiny man dressed as a court jester is dancing around a woman waving her skirts so high, Rey can almost see her –

She looks away, but she is too distracted to be sheepish. She does not thirst for anything this tavern is selling. Not the mead, nor the flesh of women that is barely concealed. She only wants for one thing.

Then, there is a wall standing before her and when she cranes her head to look up, she finds green eyes staring back at her from what seems to be an unfathomable height. Kylo grins down at her, in his terrifying and belittling fashion. She does not have it in her to be angry with him though, or to be much of anything at this point.

“Soon, _lila_ , you shall get what you need,” he murmurs, and suddenly, his eyes are brown and human. Almost, but not quite, like a flawed magic trick. 

He extends a pale hand out to her.

She stares down at it for a second, mesmerized and a little terrified to see how _big_ his hands are, just like the rest of him. Knowing she cannot refuse him – not here, anyway, and not in her condition – she shakily reaches for his hand with her much smaller one and his cold fingers close over her equally cold skin. His nails, like hers, are long and clean. She feels them scrape gently against her wrist.

“Very good, _lila."_ Kylo sweeps her towards a long bench against the wall. Rey has no idea what this little nickname he seems to favour means and she has no intention of asking either. 

The table is warped and wooden and before she can protest, he is already sitting next to her, effectively caging her in as his siblings take the rest of the seats around the table. Rose sweeps in beside her and offers Kylo a toothy smirk, as though she is not sitting there between them.

“I thought I was your flower,” Rose simpers, leaning uncomfortably close to Rey to speak to him. 

“Oh Rose, you know I detest jealousy.”

Kylo puts his arm on the back of the bench, his cold fingers resting on Rey’s shoulder and collarbone. She wants to throw him off of her and he seems to sense this because she can feel his amusement in her mind, as vague as a faint summer breeze.

Rose responds to him in a language that is completely foreign to her. The words are high-pitched, almost like birdsong. 

Kylo, however, seems to understand her perfectly, and he tilts his head back to laugh once more. Several people look at them from other tables, but then they catch his angular, expressive face and look away just as quickly. But not before Rey sees the wonder in their eyes. The bemused fear and subtle attraction. Even with their table tucked at the back of the room, he is like a roaring fire, where humanity is compelled to watch and fear in equal measure. 

She empathizes with the feeling all too well. 

“Well?” Rose continues in English, her tone practically purring now. Her chest bumps against Rey’s arm as she leans in closer to Kylo and she fights the strong urge to tear her face off with her hands. “You were singing a different tune last night, my love.”

“Yes, I suppose I was.” There is a low, dangerous undercurrent to his words now. 

Rey shifts uncomfortably. She stares down at the table, not knowing where to look that does not involve the infuriating creatures on either side of her, or the indecent dance happening across the room. She has a feeling she knows _exactly_ what Rose is insinuating and she is uncomfortable that they are talking about it so openly. No one civilized should speak about _that_ outside of the bedroom. 

Then, she notices that Luke has not joined them at the table. He is nowhere in sight and with dread, she realizes she has been left in the care of these callous wolves. Her _siblings_ , vile creatures that they are. 

“You will always be my flower, little sister,” Kylo whispers, ignoring Rey’s obvious discomfort and leaning in close as well. She feels trapped between them and the unwanted tension filling the air. She can now detect a faint scent coming from both of them. Something sweet and… creamy? Like lilacs but softer. “You are my sturdy _roz_ and our Rey here is our _lila_. Delicate little thing.”

Rey scowls at the table and they both laugh as they draw away from each other (though Kylo only moves away marginally). She _almost_ bares her teeth at both of them, but then a barmaid approaches their table, and everyone falls silent.

“What can I bring you tonight, my lovely guests?” the woman inquires in a dusky tone, her French artfully lilted with her native accent. She is darker in complexion, but not as dark as Finn. She has her hair in a pretty braid that reaches her waist.

Rey is captivated.

Dread seeps into her gut as she realizes that it is happening again. The red fever of madness is going to descend at any second now and then she will leap over this table like the monster she is and devour the barmaid whole. Before she can make good on that tempting thought, a large hand clamps around her shoulder, right where her neck and shoulder meet.

She is suddenly stilled, the way a kitten would be if its mother picked it up by the nape of its neck.

“Bring us some tankards of ale,” Kylo says in a smooth voice that seems to cut through the loudness of the tavern like a knife through butter. His hand does not move from Rey’s shoulder and she can feel the rumble of his voice with how closely he is pressed against her side. He drops some gold coins on their table with his free hand and the barmaid’s adoring smile widens. 

As she bends to scoop up the coins, Kylo suddenly leans forward, captivating her with his eyes and Rey swears she sees them glow green for the barest instant. 

“When you come back with our ale, you shall stay with us for a little while. Bring some of lovely girls with you too. We are a thirsty lot and are in dire need of your company.”

The woman blushes – which Rey considers to be pretty impressive given how plunging the neckline of her dress is and what is happening on the stage by the bar. The others do not make a sound, but they stir restlessly like the hunger Rey feels is starting to grip them too. The thought is terrifying when she considers it, but then Kylo is speaking again, inevitably drawing all the attention back to him.

“Hurry along now, _cheri_ ,” he murmurs at the barmaid with a charming grin and she turns in a flare of skirts, giggling and murmuring in French. 

“Where did Luke go?” Rey asks in an attempt to distract herself from the painful hunger in her gut. She will not kill anyone. She will not bite that pretty lady and drink all her blood… Her vision goes red again, but then Kylo’s hand grips her tighter, the tip of his index finger skating just under the collar of her dress to rub soothing circles on her clavicle.

“He dislikes the taverns.”

Rey peers up at him, her jaw shifting with the need to bite something. Anything.

Kylo leers at her like he knows exactly what she is thinking. His teeth are white and slightly crooked, his fangs long and pointed. She can feel her own, resting just behind her lips. They feel sharper than they were a few seconds ago. Longer, too.

“I don’t want to do this,” Rey whispers, pleading and terrified. Because she has no control over this hunger. How could she? If he were not holding her next to him, she would be tearing around the room, ripping these poor, innocent people apart.

“I know you don’t,” Kylo murmurs to her, his grin softening. And yet, there is no mercy in his eyes, no pity or warmth. “But you will. This is the way, _lila_.”

Soon, the barmaid returns and as requested, she has brought others with her. They carry the tankards over and Rey’s bestial siblings begin laughing and inviting the women to sit with them. The hunger coils tighter in her gut and she feels that she might fly apart at the seams, and the only thing holding her to the earth is the terrifying creature at her side, holding her back with his hand on her shoulder.

The barmaid who first served them goes to sit with Hux and Finn, but before she can Kylo lunges forward in a sharp movement. Finn and Hux recoil, their eyes each glowing minutely before returning to normal. Rey is faintly bemused to see fear on their faces, even though he has not made a sound. 

Then she notices the barmaid staring at him as though in a trance.

“Come here, _bella,_ ” Kylo murmurs to her in his deep voice.

The barmaid’s lips part and then she drifts over to them with hazy eyes. Rey stares at the dark olive of her skin and the shiny black of her hair. She wants her. She wants the deep, thrumming pulse she can now hear, the steady roar of the woman’s lifeforce.

Her blood.

The barmaid obediently walks around the table and Rey wants to feel dread and horror over what is about to happen, but the hunger is consuming her from the inside out. She cannot tear her gaze away from her throat, where she can see one of the woman’s arteries throbbing with blood.

Kylo’s hand drifts lower on Rey’s chest until his fingertips are resting on the swell of her right breast, just above the neckline of her dark blue dress. His fingernails rasp against her skin and the sound is _loud,_ it’s _deafening._ The feeling his touch summons is foreign and not entirely unwelcome; not quite heat, but something low and pleasant, unfurling in her lower stomach.

She feels possessed, like there is a monster thriving within her very bones, waiting to get out.

“Why don’t you ladies show my family to your rooms?” Kylo murmurs to the others without so much as glancing at them. It is like he has cast a spell on everyone; chairs move, the table rattles and then nearly everyone else is getting to their feet to do as he tells them. 

Only Rose lingers, to lean across Rey once more. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, _meine Liebe_?” Rose simpers, her gaze aimed solely at Kylo. 

Kylo aims a molten glare at her, causing her to flinch and quickly get up from her seat. 

Rey barely notices this exchange. She is solely focused on the barmaid now. On her throat, to be precise.

Rey barely notices Rose leave, and seemingly, neither does Kylo. He has drawn her flush against his side, and she does not have the presence of mind to notice or protest. The weight of his hand on her skin is almost… comforting, as strange and repugnant as that should be. It is just as well that they do not accompany their siblings upstairs because she could not walk anywhere right now. She is captive to the hunger, watching the barmaid with eyes that are beginning to glow a fiendish shade of amber.

“What beautiful eyes,” the barmaid says, her voice slow and dazed like she is drunk. Her braid sways as she pauses right beside Kylo, and her eyes are glued to Rey’s face with something close to rapture. “You are gorgeous, _le petite femme._ You remind me of my sister…”

Rey knows the barmaid is not drunk. She also knows that she is from Morocco and that her entire family were taken from her at a young age. That they are slaves and she is the only one who managed to escape. That she is seventeen years old and wants to be a fisherman’s wife, but no one will have her in this strange, discriminatory land and now she is a whore. Swallowing down her client’s payments while the barkeeper takes all her money. She can see it all in her mind, as clearly as though she is looking at a moving picture in the real world.

Rey does not feel any empathy for her. Not right now, when the woman’s blood is drawing her nearer like a spider to a tasty morsel.

“Do you like my little Rey?” Kylo says lightly, almost conversationally. 

Rey only feels faintly piqued by his words. The hunger is not leaving room for much else. 

In contrast, his hunger is much more controlled. Even so, she can sense it. There is a deep rumble to his voice that was not there a second ago and when she slowly turns her head to peer up at him, it is to find his eyes are glowing green once more. They are relatively hidden here, in the corner of the bar, and when the woman sits next to him on the bench, he curls his other hand into her hair and tugs her towards him, turning her effortlessly until she is sitting sideways on his lap.

“I… do…like her...” The woman is now staring at Kylo with mystified wonder and there is a touch of inanity in her gaze now, as though her mind has become addled. 

“Of course you do,” he rumbles, staring deep into the woman’s eyes with a faint smirk. “She is lovely, my little _lila_. I am going to show her the whole world.”

Kylo continues to press his influence on the woman and though he does not look at Rey, when he speaks next she knows he is addressing her now.

“You don’t have to hurt them. They are so fragile, after all.” He removes his hand from the woman’s hair and pets her face like she is a loyal dog rather than a human being. “Although agony and fear can be their own kind of entertainment, suffering is not essential. When we take them, we can take all we need and leave them their sanity. It’s… kinder.”

He says this word like he is feeling it around in his mouth as one would a distasteful flavour of food. Rey’s hands are curled together in her lap, the nails biting into skin, and she knows she is a second away from tearing this poor woman’s throat out.

“Be still, _lila_.”

Kylo does not sound stern when he says this. Rather, he seems amused, and then his hand leaves her breast, and drifts up to her jaw, in a grip that she might have recognized as possessive if she had any rationality left to notice such things. Then, he is tugging her to the barmaid and when she meets her eyes, there is almost nothing in them at all. It is as though he has stolen the woman’s essence, or locked it away somewhere from which there is no return.

Rey greedily reaches for her with hands that tremble. 

“Slowly now,” Kylo gently murmurs to her. 

Just as he turns the barmaid’s head so her neck is exposed, Rey cannot hold back anymore. Kylo’s fingers do not leave her jaw, not even when she lunges and her teeth pierce the woman’s throat. If anything, his fingers begin to rub little circles against her jawbone, as if he enjoys the motion her mouth makes when she drinks the woman’s blood. At her side, she hears a soft sound of skin puncturing and then she hears him taking his meal from the barmaid's wrist.

Together, they drain her, in their shadowy corner of the bar.

The blood runs out far sooner than Rey likes, but before she can drink further, his fingers tighten around her jaw. He pulls away from the woman’s wrist with a hiss and makes her do the same, ignoring her frustrated whimpers as he places the dead woman on the bench next to them, with her head resting on their table.

“But I...” Rey protests weakly, staring down at the woman like she is a tasty piece of steak rather than a human being she just helped to murder. The hunger is still throbbing inside of her and when she goes to latch onto the woman’s throat again, Kylo’s hand pulls her back, firmly by the jaw.

This time, she _does_ hiss.

Kylo’s jaw shifts side to side, and she cannot tell if he is angry or enjoying her little show of rage. 

“You have to stop before the heart stops, _lila_. You’ll make yourself very sick, otherwise,” he tells her with a rueful little grin. 

Rey hisses again, her eyes glowing amber and blood dripping down her chin. His eyes flicker down to her lips and before she can stop him, he is suddenly on her.

She thinks he means to either bite her, or as unthinkable as the notion is, to _kiss_ her, but he does neither of these things. Instead, she feels something cool and wet against the corners of her mouth.

And she realizes that he is _licking_ the dead woman’s blood off her skin.

His tongue glides across the corners of her mouth and laps at her chin. He makes a deep, satisfied sound when he is done and then those terrifying green eyes are staring down at her once more. Their faces are inches apart and this fact sobers Rey up from her terrible hunger faster than anything else could.

“What. Are you. Doing?” she says, far too breathlessly. She tries to push him away and his hold on her only tightens until there is barely any space between them at all.

“You taste as sweet as you smell,” Kylo murmurs with an esoteric smirk. His tongue flicks out to lick up the remnants from his lips and Rey absolutely ignores how red it is, no doubt from the blood he just _licked_ off her face. “Hmm… like apricots.” He tilts his head and seems to run his tongue across the roof of his mouth as he ponders it over. “Wheat and honey…and…”

He pauses again, his smirk widening at the blatant fury in her eyes.

“… Vanilla. It is divine, my _lila_.” 

Kylo rumbles his little pet name for her, the syllables vibrating against her side where she is pressed against him. Without warning, he presses his nose against her temple and inhales deeply, even though they both know that gesture is just for show. When he draws back to regard her, there is something different to his eyes that was not there before. The glowing green of his irises has deepened into a shade of dark emerald.

Rey’s breath catches.

She wants to be furious with him for touching and _licking_ her in such a horrid, inappropriate manner. She wants to be horrified by what they just did to that innocent woman who just wanted to marry a fisherman and live out her days on the harbour. But all she can focus on is Kylo and those green eyes. Many years later, upon reflecting on this moment, she will wonder if he had done it as some small mercy to her. Stealing her focus and attention away from her first conscious kill and placing it somewhere else.

Kylo, as she well knows even hundreds of years later, is an enigma of conflicting impulses and motives.

Whether it was done so kindly or not, Rey is _entirely_ consumed by equal measures of fear and loathing. He smiles at her, casually reaching up a finger to catch a stray bit of blood that escaped his lips, at the corner of his wide mouth. He is much cleaner than her, but then again, he has hundreds of years of practice feeding on humans.

“It is going to be sublime when I have you. For both of us, I gather.”

It takes her a moment to realize his meaning and then her eyes are narrowed in disgust and fury. 

“That will _never_ happen,” Rey says in a voice shaking with anger. 

When she pushes off of him this time, he lets her go. She rises from the table in jerky motions, backing away from the shadowy corner where the barmaid’s body is stiffening. Kylo’s eyes glow with merry malevolence. Her gaze jumps away from the barmaid with guilt and then he is leaning forward to leer at her knowingly.

“Guilt is useless,” he says to her in his deep, booming voice. “You are what you are and the sooner you embrace it, the easier it will be on you.” His eyes make a long, slow journey over the bodice of her gown and back up again. “Denial is for the weak, _lila_. I have seen your mind and we both know you enjoyed killing her as much as I did.”

“ _Fiend_ ,” Rey hisses at him, with her lips pulled back in a snarl.

Before his raucous laughter can reach her ears, she flees from the tavern and out into the night, where the City of Lights never truly sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translations:
> 
> meine Liebe - my love  
> lila - lily or flower  
> roz - rose
> 
> Vandal (Ancient German)  
> Vandalrice - King of the Vandals
> 
> If I missed any, please let me know!


	6. The Follies of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their chests are nearly flush together and though no one seems to notice, Rey feels like she is drowning - in his eyes, in his words, in the terrible hunger coiling her stomach to ribbons. He turns his head, so that his lips are at her ear and when he speaks again, she trembles against him like the last leaf on an autumn shaken tree. 
> 
> “I will show you what we are, my delicate little flower. You and I both.”
> 
> Rey discovers a strange new ability and is placed in yet another situation she does not want to be in.
> 
> ***Warning for violence in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First image from Kittrose on Pinterest. 
> 
> Second image from gwendy85 on Pinterest.

Poe shifts in his chair, the sound loud in the empty apartment. 

Rey is not looking at him, though. The grains of wood in the table seem to mock her as she recounts that night in Paris. She can see Kylo’s eyes as they were that night. Hooded and dark green. She had known what it meant, even if she had successfully ignored it for a long time. 

Eventually, though, there came a time when she could not pretend anymore. 

“You were more afraid of Kylo, weren’t you?” Poe says when she has been silent for too long. “The others scared you. Luke definitely freaked you out and Rose doesn’t seem like she was much of a peach either - but Kylo was the worst of them. Wasn’t he?” 

Rey looks up from the table and smiles faintly. “Oh yes.”

“But Luke was older than him. More powerful, no?”

“He was older, but I’m not certain he was more powerful,” Rey replies thoughtfully. “Age usually dictates might in our kind, unlike with humans. Luke was certainly powerful and one of the oldest of our kind. But Kylo was -”

_Magnificent. Terrifying. Breathtaking. Everything._

“- his own breed. The likes of which had not been seen in centuries.” Then, she adds, with bitter irony, “The pinnacle of all that Skywalker blood.” 

She is thinking of many things when she says this. She is thinking of hands clasped together on Spanish terraces, of dancing to the pianoforte, of lips pressed to ears with whispered declarations as a cold, mountain wind blows over the Himalayas. She is thinking about jungle heat and torrential rain as a large pair of arms wrap tightly around her on the threshold of nature and fury. She is thinking of flying and fucking and laughter and tears and…

Him. Always him. 

Ben often tells her she thinks too much, for one of their kind. She often tells him he is the same as her, no matter how much he pretends otherwise. 

“Where is he? You keep speaking in the past tense about him.” 

Rey looks up and finds herself uncharacteristically startled by the soft, wondering tone Poe uses. His dark eyes are narrowed in question, his head tilted with a hint of knowing. She recovers, far too quickly for him to see or detect, and then she is smirking, much the same way Kylo used to whenever she did something he found silly or perplexing. 

“Now, we don’t want to ruin the ending of the story do we?” 

Poe sits back in his seat and shakes his head. His laughter is uneasy. Nervous. 

“No, I guess we don’t.”

Rey taps her fingers on the table, her smirk slow to fade. “So. Paris.”

“Paris,” Poe repeats, and then he sits up straight, his gaze riveted on hers. 

*

For the following months, Rey’s new vampiric family brings her to Paris every night. There are a plethora of taverns and bars for them to frequent and the residents seem to mysteriously forget their existence each time they leave, so they never have to worry about being identified or linked to the strange deaths plaguing the city. 

Luke has become increasingly absent during this time. She hardly sees him at all and begins to suspect he does not stay at the Manor with them. That he travels all over France - perhaps even the continent - but for what she does not know. The others do not seem concerned by his frequent absences and though she feels no loyalty or kinship towards Luke, she feels uneasy with him gone so much. 

His absence leaves her no buffer against the others. Against _him_. 

“I want to hunt alone.”

Rey can barely say the word “hunt” without shivering in revulsion, but she has worked herself up to this speech for several weeks and Luke is finally home again. Well, as _home_ as the Manor can be, she supposes. She does not want to “hunt” at all, but the hunger is still fresh and consuming. Undeniable. So she tries to pick old people when she hunts. The obviously sick or unwell. These tactics do not make her feel any better about murdering innocent people, but she finds it slightly easier to stomach that way. 

Although Kylo has not pulled any of the stunts he did that first night in Paris, she can feel his eyes on her whenever they visit the brothels to feed. The way he watches her take the prostitutes, pimps, and impoverished, the way his eyes darken to that unknowable shade of deep emerald, the way he lingers in her peripheral at every turn…

She has taken to propping a chair against her bedroom door before resting in her coffin for the day. She learned from the others that they frequently sleep in each other’s coffins and she has overheard, much to her indignation and sheepishness, the boisterous sounds of her siblings’ lovemaking through the floors and walls. She does not want any of them attempting to sneak into her coffin with her. Least of all _him_. 

No one has tried it yet, but their relentless teasing and terrorizing has not worn off since she was made one of them. Rose, in particular, along with Mitaka, Kaydel and Bazine, are tirelessly vicious towards her. Finn and Hux simper and laugh, but they leave her alone for the most part. Jango seems to keep to himself more times than not. He emanates a particularly menacing aura that makes her keep away from him. 

“No.”

Rey blinks down at Luke in confusion before her eyes glow amber with anger. The study is awash in warm, orange light as the fireplace roars as Luke sits in his favourite chair by the fire, as still as a statue. She continues to find this behaviour incredibly creepy. Is he lost in thought, or does his brain just shut down for the night? 

Maybe she doesn't want to know the answer to that. 

Elsewhere in the house, the others are all preparing to go out to the city again. She can hear them downstairs right now - hear their virulent catcalling, first to each other, and then to her when they cannot find her in her room. Abruptly, Bazine screams Rey’s name with such ardent and phony concern that it is not long before she can hear the others laughing as though this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. 

“ _REEEEEEEY_! _WHERE ART THOU, DEAREST SISTER_?” Bazine continues to scream.

Then Kaydel and Mitaka begin screeching as well, until they are unintelligible. 

“ _REY! YOU’RE TEARING ME APART_!”

“ _COME OUT, LITTLE SISTER!_ ”

Rey first winces and then bristles with rage. 

Luke does not react at all. He just sits by the fire as if he is carved from marble, those yellow eyes staring into the flames without an ounce of humanity.

“It’s been months. I’m ready now. I can go out on my own.” She is trying to stay calm, to utilize the commanding tone her father always used with the merchants in the village when haggling prices on crops and meat. 

Judging from the way Luke smirks, she is failing miserably on that account. 

“You have much to learn.” He looks at her then and she has to fight not to take a sharp step away from him. She is still frightened of him and the others, though the sharpness of that fear is beginning to dull. It is only when Kylo is around that she feels it more keenly. When she feels _everything_ more keenly.

She despises the tall, enigmatic brute for it. 

“Go on, Rey. In another fortnight, I will bring you and your siblings on a great hunt. Then we shall see how ready you are to be out on your own.” 

Luke’s expression gives nothing away and Rey swallows with dread. A great hunt?

She lingers for a moment, faltering and on the verge of protesting, but there is a sharpness to his gaze now that makes her hold her silence and turn for the door. When she returns later that evening with blood staining her lips and a heart heavy with renewed guilt, Luke is gone again. 

*

More weeks pass. She loathes it all - the red rush of hunger, the glint of amusement and mockery from the others, the fading life in those that she takes…

Tonight, of course, is no different although the location is something new. 

The room is lit with candles and gold candelabras. There are men in fancy dinner jackets and flawless white wigs. Servers turn about the room with trays of h'orderves and champagne, and the women are painted like peacocks, where they simper to their husbands and lovers, their laughter tittering and aggravating to her ears. The carpet is plush and expensive. Likely from the Orient. The walls are covered in silk rather than wallpaper.

Someone is playing the pianoforte across the room. Badly, from the sounds of it. 

Rey has never seen such wealth before. Such opulence. She instantly hates it. Judging from the knowing smirks thrown her way from her siblings, each of whom has taken it upon themselves to brush past her with snide little remarks about "proper breeding", they all know it too. They are all dressed fancily; in beautiful silk dresses and gorgeous suits, wearing their costumes to cover for the fact that they are nothing like the people in this room because they are not people at all.

They are monsters.

Rey wears a royal purple gown lent to her from Bazine. It's too big, though the colour is admittedly beautiful. Her hair is up in a feathered bun and Kaydel even took the time to put makeup on her. She wishes Kaydel had not bothered. She dislikes the way the makeup feels on her skin. More than that, though, she dislikes the hungry, beady way several men in the room have been eyeing her.

She is going to kill one of them tonight, after all. The roil of distasteful emotions makes her head sick. 

“What about that young fop, my love? Or the old crone next to him?” 

Rey turns to find Hux and Finn standing beside her when they had not been there a second ago. There is a suspicious glow to Hux’s cheeks that tips her off to the fact that he has recently fed. Finn looks ashen in comparison and she realizes that they are discussing his meal.

Across the room from them, the "young fop" they are referring to stands next to a woman who is much older than him, almost like a guard dog. The older woman is plump, has a mole painted on her face next to her heavily stained lips, and is clearly one of the wealthiest people here tonight, based on her absurdly garish jewelry and satin gown. 

“Not my taste, darling. She’s a little past her prime.” They laugh at his joke, but Rey is hardly listening to them now. “Now, her little poodle on the other hand might prove entertaining. I bet we could...”

Rey tunes them out, and finds herself staring at the older woman, watching as she leans to the side to whisper in the young fop’s ear. He is her lover. They fucked only hours ago, though he was not allowed to finish. The old woman finds it entertaining to make him suffer this way as long as she meets her own end. These thoughts, unbidden and mysterious in origin, flit through Rey's head like a hummingbird to a flower. The sounds of the party fade to nothingness, and the longer she stares at the woman, the harder she finds it to look away. 

Then, she is quite suddenly in the woman’s mind. In her _memories_. 

There is no pause in between, no warning. The room and the party are gone. Finn and Hux are nowhere to be seen. Before Rey can panic as to _how_ and _why_ this is happening, she finds herself standing in a bedroom, though it is the nicest bedroom she has ever been in. The bed is a four-poster, with thick mahogany beams and pretty, lacy drapery around it. The window has heavy satin curtains, thrown wide open and allowing for moonlight to spill through. 

The young fop is in this memory too - for that is what this is, Rey realizes. A memory and a very recent one at that. The old woman stands by the window in a white dressing gown and she is speaking in German to the young fop. 

“ _Mach es, Gerald. Sei schnell_ ,” the woman hisses at the sweating young man and now Rey knows that his name is Gerald and he is nineteen and his parents sold him off to this woman to keep her company. In all the ways she sees fit. 

Rey translates the words into French, but her voice sounds like it is coming from very far away. 

_Do it, Gerald. Be quick._

An old man lies on the bed, fast asleep. Gerald approaches him with a pillow in hand. Even the pillowcase looks expensive - golden thread and silk. Gerald raises the pillow over the old man’s face and then he slowly presses it down. The fop is shaking and sweating with anxiety, but the old woman does not care. She stands to inherit hundreds of thousands of pounds and Gerald will be replaced by another when she grows tired of him, likely to be drowned in a lake by her guards. The plan is vague, but Rey can see the intent there. 

Intent, she discovers, is _black_. It is a colour and so are all human emotions. Greed is blistering orange and it bleeds through this woman’s mind more than any other emotion. Bright. Blistering. Orange. 

This old woman had the young fop kill her husband. And she _enjoyed_ it. 

Suddenly, a deep, familiar voice draws Rey back before she can dive deeper into her mind. 

“Come back, _lila_.”

She blinks and Hux and Finn are gone from her side. The old woman and her young fop remain in their seats, talking with other French socialites, though she wonders what those high society peacocks would think if they knew that woman was really German. 

Then, she notices a large hand gripping her arm and she turns to the source.

Kylo stares down at her and she can sense it again from him; a hint of surprise (and veneration?) in the dulled spheres of his brown eyes, the same as when she had pushed back and gone into his mind all those weeks ago. She finds herself struggling to focus on the room after her strange episode and when she speaks, she does so without forethought. 

“Her name is Irmele,” Rey murmurs to him. “That is her real name. Her greed is orange.”

One corner of Kylo’s mouth lifts higher than the other and his eyes glitter at her. Tonight, he is wearing his high collared jacket and his thick, black hair is artfully tousled. He is one of the few men not wearing a wig and she is one of the few women not wearing one either. She notes the similarity and frowns. 

“Ah, you can see them too. All those little colours in their silly little heads,” he replies like she did not just say something bizarre. Like this conversation is even remotely normal. “Very good, Rey. Very good.”

Together, they turn to regard the couple. He does not remove his hand from her arm and she does not push him away either, though she really should. The hunger is beginning to encroach in on her and with all these sweating, disgusting bodies of wealth around them, matters are not being helped. She just wants to tear them all apart. She just wants to feed. 

“What else?” Kylo murmurs and then he is leading her around the room in a leisurely stroll. 

“She had that young man kill her husband.” She says this very quietly, lest anyone hear them. 

“Hmmm, she did, didn’t she? Naughty old _hündin_.” 

Rey quickly looks away from him. She cannot blush anymore but she would have at that moment. They are _not_ co-conspirators, but for a moment she almost wanted to laugh at the remark. 

“That means…?” She thinks she does well in sounding cool and aloft, but she can never tell with Kylo. He seems to see through every facade she puts up. 

“Bitch,” he replies offhandedly, with no worry or regard for the people around them. “But you knew that, didn’t you _lila_?”

Rey looks around them uncomfortably but everyone is too busy staring at Kylo and his general aura to be paying much mind to the curse word. These people are also, she notices with grave discomfort, staring at _her._ Like she is just as captivating as the dark creature leading her around the room. 

“Maybe,” Rey replies because she does not know what else to say. “I’m beginning to understand your language. And the others’ too.”

“Very good,” Kylo rumbles once more, his sharp eyes scanning around the room for prey, no doubt. 

“I didn’t know I could do that. With Irmele, I mean.” Rey follows him on their second tour of the room. Her head aches faintly. This is the first time she has experienced pain outside of her hunger pangs and she wonders if she should be worried. 

“The dark gift is different for each of us.” 

He eyes a young woman who passes by them with interest. He does not leave Rey though; he smoothly grasps her hand and places it in the crook of his elbow, like she is a lady and he is a gentleman and they are just two socialites stopping by at a party. 

“This is no gift,” she replies darkly. 

Kylo smirks. “It is, _lila_. You will see in time. Some of us are more powerful than others. Some possess different gifts than others. Like you and me. I knew when we found you that you were different. That you were strong and powerful. We are the same, _lila_.”

Rey stops and he follows suit a second later. She pulls her hand away from his arm, but then he is there, lightning-quick and grasping her hand in his like a cat effortlessly sweeping a struggling mouse back into its paws. His grip is loose, but she knows it will tighten if she tries to pull away again. The party seems to dim, all sight and sound washing away.

He should be ugly, she thinks. His features are unbalanced, mix-matched. 

But he isn’t. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why is her voice trembling? Why can’t he just leave her alone? 

For the first time since she has met this creature, Kylo is suddenly angry. She can feel it venting off him like volcanic heat, his big and imposing body vibrating with dark, wisps of rage. But he is still smiling, which only makes the effect more terrifying. His eyes are not glowing but she knows if they were alone they would be; that dark, paradox of glowing and deep emerald. The same colour that follows her into her dreams. 

“But you do know.” It is the voice of his hunger that she is hearing, for whenever one of their kind is in the grips of reddest hunger their voice transforms. Deepens. Grows less human. He steps closer and when he grasps her waist to draw her nearer she finds she cannot move away. That he is likely putting her in a trance, much the way he does with his victims. That _she_ is his prey now and she will be for the rest of her miserable existence. 

“Don’t.” Rey tries to sound firm, as she did with Luke a few weeks ago. She shakes her head at him for good measure, but Kylo only copies her, his smile widening until his incisors are peeking out at her in a sharp threat. 

“ _T_ _here_ it is again,” he says in a deceptively light tone. He lowers his chin so he is looking at her the way one would a misbehaved child, from the top of his eyes. “ _There_ is that denial you love to cleave to. But you know I am right. The blood is strong in us both. That is why Luke chose me and that is why he chose you.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Rey is nearly hysterical, but she manages to remember where they are at the last second and steadies herself. “I don’t know what _you_ are,” she whispers, so no one around them can hear, “but I am _nothing_ like you.”

Their chests are nearly flush together and though no one seems to notice, she feels like she is drowning - in his eyes, in his words, in the terrible hunger coiling her stomach to ribbons. He turns his head so that his lips are at her ear and when he speaks again, she trembles against him like the last leaf on an autumn shaken tree. 

“ _I will show you what we are, my delicate little flower_. _You and I both._ ”

It is not until he has replaced her hand on his arm and they are across the room making their introductions to the murderous Lady Irmele and her young fop Gerald, that Rey realizes he had spoken the words in ancient German to her. 

And that she had understood him perfectly despite never speaking that language in her life. 

*

Kylo spends the remainder of their time at the party charming Irmele - all without the use of their dark gifts and just his insatiable charisma. 

Much to Rey’s grave irritation. 

“Is she your sister?” Irmele asks him, barely throwing Rey a glance. All the old heiress's attention is focused on him and after the initial introductions, she is heartily ignored. 

“ _Oui madame,_ ” Kylo replies in a throaty accent that makes Irmele all but swoon. 

Rey, for her part, simply wants to be parted from him and whatever unsavory plans he has in store. 

“I am chaperoning my little Rhylen here.” He aims a look at her that makes her stop her fidgeting and it takes everything in her willpower not to break eye contact first. Turning back to Irmele with an enchanting grin, he adds, “My baby sister does not get out much and our parents are desperate to marry her off. Stubborn little thing won’t hear of it, though, so we find ourselves here, in hopes of a suitor. Can you believe she wanted to be a pirate for the longest time?”

Rey’s gaze shoots to his, and although his lips are turned in a charming grin, she can see a hint of his true brand of cruelty; a faint green glow that dissipates before Irmele and the other mortals can pick up on it. 

“A pirate?” Irmele repeats, scandalized and amused, meanwhile remaining woefully ignorant to the little game he is playing, right before her eyes. 

“Yes, my little Rhylen can be quite silly sometimes. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

As their laughter rings in Rey’s ears, she very nearly slaps him across his damnable face. He stole those memories from her; all the times her mother, and even her father, had begged her to consider the village boys’ proposals and all the times she had refused. Her little island in the ocean, a dreamland, a fantasy with which to escape the long and perilous hours of mundane reality and womanly duty.

And Kylo knows this because he poked around in her mind, where he had no business poking. 

“Why,” Irmele replies, before affixing a plastic and flirtatious smile at him, “siblings can be most difficult. Especially younger sisters. I was the eldest of eleven girls and I am the only one left.” She cackles at this, her gaze flitting to Gerald for the briefest instant. 

The young fop swallows and looks away. 

“They can be difficult, _oui._ But once they’re properly - how do you say in French - ah _dressé_ then the rewards can be quite great, indeed.” His voice is lilted with such amusement, that Rey has to forcibly look elsewhere, or she definitely would have slapped him, consequences be damned. He speaks of her as though she is a prized horse to be tamed. 

“Well, either way, I hope you have found what you were looking for at tonight’s gathering.” Irmele’s face is heavily painted with make-up. With the heat in the room and the amount of alcohol the old woman has consumed, her foundation is practically melting off of her face. Why Kylo is so interested in this woman is her best guess…

“Oh, I have.” He takes the lady's hand in his and kisses it, not once breaking eye contact with her. 

Rey looks away with her teeth gnashing together. 

“Why don’t we all go back to my apartments here in the city? We can have a nightcap and get to know each other better.” Irmele is practically simpering as she says this, without so much as looking Gerald’s way once. When Kylo heartily agrees, she cackles so shrilly that Rey has to squeeze her hands into fists to prevent herself from ripping the woman’s tongue out of her annoying little mouth. 

*

She does not remember much of the carriage ride across Paris. 

Regardless of her apparent anger, which Kylo can very well sense because he has kept throwing knowing smirks her way, he has charmed Irmele so completely that Gerald hardly seems to exist to her now. Rey suspects her own invitation is more of a formality. After all, Kylo cannot very well leave his “little sister” on her own in society. Such things are scandalous, as he cleverly had known. She would have to accompany them whether she wants to or not. 

As they ride in the carriage through central Paris, she has no idea where their siblings are, only that he has decided to leave them behind. It can mean nothing good, being alone with him like this. Irmele and Gerald are nothing. Inconsequential. Stage dressing for whatever he has planned. 

And Rey is about to be punished. 

She knows this is his motive for bringing them to this murderous woman’s apartments in the middle of the night. He is still furious with her and this, more than anything else, terrifies her. The humans cannot sense it, but _she_ can. His fury is crimson, almost like hunger but more daunting. Though she cannot read his mind the way she did with Irmele, she can _feel_ him. It is like he left a piece of himself behind in her mind, that night he took her high in the sky and invaded her thoughts. He is a shard of glass in her heel and no matter what she does, she cannot remove him. 

As they round the final corner and stop before a beautiful building with marble pillars out front, Kylo takes Rey’s hand in his and leads her out of the carriage. 

And then, to her great surprise, he completely disregards her after this. 

He goes to Irmele and offers his arm, murmuring lowly in French to her as Gerald is left to awkwardly lead them all up the steps and into the apartments. Once inside, Rey finds her home is even nicer than the house they attended the party at. She briefly eyes the door before one of the guards closes it, entertaining the notion of fleeing while she still can. 

But then she feels Kylo’s eyes on her. 

_I would not do that, lila. I really wouldn’t._

Her gaze snaps to his at the sound of his voice in her head, but he is not looking at her anymore. Irmele leads them into a beautiful parlour, where there is already champagne waiting for them on a leaden tray. Her hunger is more muted than it has ever been. Maybe because she is just too terrified of what is about to happen. 

The furniture in the parlour is painted Parisian style; in chalk-painted white, gold, and creams, bespeaking wealth and opulence. Everything from the serving trays to the small little statues decorating the tables is gold - and no doubt real, at that. She is uncomfortable for many reasons right now, and the general spendor of her surroundings does not help. She finds herself sitting stiffly on one end of a chaise lounge and it is impressed upon her once again how little appetite she suddenly has.

The hunger, for the first time since her transformation, is subdued. 

Irmele sits on a long, stiff-looking couch and Kylo takes the seat at her side, aiming her with his most charming smile yet. Gerald is left to sit in an armchair next to Rey and he keeps glaring at them resentfully. 

“Tell me, _mon cher,_ have you always lived in Paris?” Kylo asks, with his brown eyes glittering and his red lips quirked in a grin. 

Rey already knows the answer to this question for she saw it in Irmele’s mind - she was born in Berlin and lived there for the first seventeen years of her life. But she also knows that Irmele - or _Marie_ as the old woman now goes by - will never admit to her birthplace. The Germans and French do not have great relations at the moment and her fortune would be in jeopardy if anyone ever discovered her secrets. 

“Oh yes. My whole life.” Irmele grasps one of his pale hands in hers. The lie is so smooth, that she is almost impressed by the woman’s tenacity. 

Then, she gasps dramatically and uses her other hand to rub Kylo’s. 

“You are so cold, _monsieur_!” she exclaims for dramatic effect. She leans towards Kylo, her voice nothing more than a purr, “I can warm these poor hands up if you would like.”

Rey can see the truth in this woman’s eyes. She is enamoured with Kylo and his strange, exotic handsomeness. Lust, she discovers, is dusky pink. Like faded roses and just as thorny, just as lethal. She tunes out his low reply and looks around the room just for something else to pay attention to. At her side, Gerald picks up a glass of champagne and downs it in one gulp. His eyes are beady and narrowed with dislike as Irmele reaches up with a heavily manicured hand to touch Kylo’s hair. 

Something hot and foreign burns in Rey’s stomach at this sight. She shifts on the lounge, frowning down at the carpet at the sensation. She does not know what the emotion is, only that she suddenly wants to either tear Irmele’s throat open or Kylo’s. Or both. The feeling ratchets up when he nuzzles the old woman’s cheek and before Rey knows it, she is on her feet. 

Gerald looks up at her in alarm, no doubt because he saw just how _quickly_ she managed to stand up, but she is not concerned with him. Soon, she suspects, the occupants of this apartment will be dead anyway. It is only when Irmele glances at her, momentarily broken from Kylo’s spell, that she remembers her voice. 

“Excuse me.” She clears her throat, and folds her hands together in front of her to hold her violent impulses at bay. She just needs to leave the room. She needs to _go_. “I must… freshen up.”

Kylo shoots a scathing glare her way but she somehow manages to ignore him. 

“The powder room is upstairs, _petite femme_ ,” Irmele says dismissively, and then her attention is back on Kylo, even though all of _his_ attention is burningly fixed on Rey. His eyes are silently commanding her to _sit_ , but she looks away from him before he can put any hold on her. 

“ _Merci,_ ” Rey replies quietly and then she starts walking towards a gloomy staircase they walked past on their way to the parlour. She has no solid plan for escape - at least not yet - but she knows if she stays here, he will make her do terrible things. Even though her hunger has been oddly muted since arrival, it will come back again, waiting to be served. To be satiated. And then she will not have any control over herself, let alone the things that he might make her do. 

“Show her, Gerald,” Irmele commands absently. 

Rey halts by the doors and slowly turns back to them. To her dread, the young fop sighs with resignation and gets up to join her side. Irmele is openly kissing Kylo’s cheek, moving on a steady downward path to his throat, and still, Rey can feel his gaze on her. 

She does not look back and wonders if she can manage to escape out a window before he notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mach es, Gerald. Sei schnell.  
> Translates to: Do it, Gerald. Be quick. 
> 
> Hündin  
> Translates to: bitch. 
> 
> dressé  
> Translates to: trained


	7. Darkest Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a monster.” 
> 
> Kylo opens his eyes and turns his face, his nose sliding against her skin and the blood there, so that he can aim a grim smirk at her in the mirror. 
> 
> Rey learns an important lesson.
> 
> ***Warning for extreme violence, gore, and unwanted touching. Keep those tags in mind folks, and enjoy!

“You look like you don’t want to hear anymore.”

Poe is pale - far paler than Rey has seen him tonight. When he catches her appraising him, he gives her a slim smile. 

“This is... a lot.”

“But you have already heard so many terrible things from me tonight. What makes this part of my story any different?” 

Rey does not sound accusatory, only curious. She leans back in her seat, utterly relaxed. In contrast, Poe is hunched forward so his elbows are resting on the table, neatly framing his phone recording between them. There is a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead and his lips tremble ever so slightly before he speaks. 

“I think…” he pauses, as though searching for the right words, and then he pulls his arms off the table, meeting her gaze head-on. “I think it’s because you’re afraid. The other times, you were hardly with it when those things happened. Your - _hunger_ \- sounds a lot like being high. When you spoke of your first few kills, it was like someone told you it happened to you, but you weren’t really present for it. But this? You were completely aware of what was happening. Of what Kylo could and would do.”

Rey tucks in her bottom lip in thought. 

“I was terrified of him.” It’s the truth and if there is one thing she promised herself she would do in this room, with this man, it was, to tell the truth. 

“And now?”

She is beginning to understand why Poe does what he does for a living. Although he does not possess the dark gift, he has a knack for getting to uncomfortable truths. She is all the more glad she chose him for this task. 

“Once you’ve lived as long as I have, ghosts cannot scare you anymore.”

He frowns at her cryptic statement, but before he can ask about it, she gestures towards him. 

“Do you want me to continue?”

“No,” he replies instantly. He laughs then, though his laughter has a slightly hysterical quality to it. “But you will anyways. That’s why we’re here.”

“Yes,” Rey murmurs quietly and once Poe has settled into his seat, she continues. 

*

Gerald is quiet when he walks Rey upstairs. 

He does not offer her his arm, as Kylo had done earlier that night, and he does not make much eye contact either. If she did not know better, she would say that he looks just as nervous as she feels, though she doubts it is for the same reasons. 

His fears stem from pure and utter selfishness, and she finds she does not have much patience or sympathy for him. He is afraid of his mistress’s secrets getting out, of their crimes being placed in his blame. Most of all, he is afraid he will be replaced by a new suitor. By Kylo. 

If the situation were not so fraught, Rey would have laughed in his face. She could never picture Kylo being subservient to anyone or anything, least of all to Irmele. She is not even certain of his relationship with Luke. They seem to co-exist as the Alphas of their _family_ , though she is not sure if this is because Luke has groomed Kylo to be this way, or that is simply the way he is.

She wonders if it is a bit of both. 

They finally reach the bathroom and Gerald gives her a small nod, depositing her at the doorway to do her business. 

Rey closes the door behind her, wincing from the bright candlelight. There is no toilet of course - modern plumbing will not have been invented yet for several centuries. But even if there was one, she would have no need for it now. On the counter sits a water basin, filled with rose petals and orchids. On the other side of the room, there is a large, clawfoot tub in the corner. 

Rey goes to the water basin and rinses the make-up off her face. It is a small relief to be free from the cloying, sticky essence of whale fat and kohl. When she dries her face off with one of the pristine towels hanging on a hook by the basin, she gets a good look at herself in the mirror. 

Her hair is pulled away from her face, accentuating the rounded curves of her cheeks, the sharp jut of her chin and her proud forehead. Her teeth - still white and slightly gapped in the center - are basically the same as before, if one can ignore the obvious and menacing pair of canines descending to her lips. Her eyes are a wild shade of honey, more nuanced than they were when she was still alive. She knows they glow amber when she is at the height of her anger and hunger. 

They are not glowing now, but she almost wishes they were. 

With the rouge gone from her cheeks, she is pale. Ghostly. Yet somehow her opulent surroundings do not wash her out. Somehow, she stands out even _more_ because of them, as though they are vulgar imitations of beauty and she is the sum of true allure. 

And danger too, of course. 

Rey turns away from the mirror and regards the singular window in the bathroom. It is small, perhaps two feet in height and width. There is no way she will possibly fit through it, but she is tempted to try anyway. Even a floor above Kylo, she can feel the hunger - _his_ hunger - cranking up, spoiling the air and turning her insides into the needy, throbbing gorge that they become when her hunger takes over. 

She cannot stay. 

His murderous intentions feel like a second skin over her, suffocating her to the thrill of violence he favours so well. She wants no part in this, though she suspects her fleeing might incite an even worse punishment. But she does not care anymore. He can do whatever he wants to these people. She does not believe in killing humans for food, yet neither Gerald nor Irmele are the type of people who stir much empathy from her. She will leave and make her own way back to the Manor. If he still feels the need to inflict his will upon her, he can do it there. 

Before Rey can even cross the room, there is a soft rap of knuckles on the door. 

She sways on the spot. She is too late. She has missed her chance of escape. The best she can hope for is a moment of distraction from Kylo. If she has to jump through one of the pretty bay windows to get away from him, she will. With this resolve in mind, she steadies herself, her face composing into what she hopes is some semblance of calm and normalcy. 

Her hand closes over the ivory doorknob, but when she opens the bathroom door, it is not Gerald there to greet her. Or at least - he is not alone. 

Before her sharp and heightened vision can adjust to the gloominess of the corridor, it is a pair of glowing green eyes that she sees first. What little human emotions she has left clinches in her middle, fisting her no-longer-functioning organs until she recognizes the horror she is experiencing. Next, she sees the blood; all over the wall outside the bathroom, all over a white shirt that is no longer covered up by a high-collared jacket, and all over the prone form hefted in a pair of massively muscled arms. She cannot see Kylo’s face - at least, not all of it - because his mouth is buried in Gerald’s throat. 

He makes a deep sound in his throat upon seeing her and when he tears his teeth from Gerald’s throat, a squirt of blood splashes across her face in a diagonal arc. She does not scream, or react much at all. She hardly blinks, so great is her shock. 

They stare at each other as Gerald dies in his arms, gurgling on his own blood. 

Kylo's broad shoulders are heaving even though he has no need for oxygen and she realizes he is _smelling_ her - taking deep lungfuls of her scent. It is then that she begins to smell him too, though she is far less obvious when she takes him in. He smells like beechwood, vanilla and summer rain. He smells like heady storms and soft, creamy warmth. 

Rey wants to hate his scent. She wants to hate it so badly. 

His chin drops until he is leering at her from the tops of his glowing green eyes. He looks positively _wicked_ from this angle, with his teeth peeking out over blood-stained lips and his face and upper body covered in crimson. It feels like a long time passes in which they simply stare at one another across the threshold of the bathroom door; like an eternity has come and gone, and they are all that remains of the world and all its graveyards. 

Rey recalls the words she said to him earlier that night, when they were at a civilized party, pretending to be civilized people. 

_I don’t know what you are, but I am nothing like you._

Kylo hears her mind, he hears those words again even though she has not uttered them out loud, and his eyes darken into that deep emerald only she seems capable of eliciting from him. Gerald’s blood runs down her cheeks like tears and she _hears_ it when a drop falls from her chin and strikes the floor at her feet. A small sound escapes her mouth; not so much as a shout, or a moan but only the vaguest of whimpers. 

Slowly, as though rising from a great and endless slumber, she grasps the edge of the door and starts closing it. She does this without thought, without motive or hope of getting away from him. She just wants to pretend for a little while longer. The hunger is still mostly absent, just a distant tickle in her tummy in comparison to the raging inferno it usually presents as, and she just wants to pretend a little longer, _justalittlelongerpleasegodicantiwont_. 

Maybe she’ll lie down in the tub and pretend she is on a small boat that she has constructed all on her own. She’d have used twine and sheep’s gut to bind the logs together, and she would be serenely floating towards her island. She’ll just close the door, lie in the tub, and close her eyes and soon she’ll feel the rocking of the boat and none of this will be real. 

_noneofthisisrealohgodohpleasesomeonewakemeup_

Gerald’s body is already falling to the floor when Kylo reaches out with one large hand to stop the door’s progress. The thud his hand makes against the wood is jarringly loud, his fingers staining the pretty white paint with splotches of crimson. She never really had any hope of getting away. It is not like her closing the door will stop him. It is not like _anything_ will stop him. Their eyes meet again and when he makes another low sound, she pulls in a sharp gasp that might have been the start of a word if only she could know what it might be. 

Things move very quickly from there. 

A blur of white and black replaces Kylo - a shutter click of movement - and then Rey has been spun around, the front of her thighs are pressed against the counter where the water basin sits and her purple dress crinkles with the sudden weight at her back. She is before the mirror once more, her reflection pulled into lines of terror. Kylo's arm is wrapped around the front of her chest, in much the same way she had just found poor, dead Gerald seconds earlier. He is now pressed against her back and his livid face is like that of a spectre over her shoulder.

With fresh, warm blood running through him, he feels almost scorchingly hot against her. 

Eyes glowing and his teeth bared, he raises one of his large hands and wraps it around her throat. This in and of itself is no real threat - she has no need to breathe after all - but the action stills her movements before she can think to fight back. 

“You removed your make-up, _lila_ ,” Kylo remarks from behind her, like this is a polite conversation they are having and the hand on her throat is not an insinuated threat. His apparent amusement does not reach his eyes though; instead, they are filled with terrible rage and hunger. 

Rey twists against him on instinct to get away, but it is like trying to disentangle herself from a boa constrictor. He just grips her tighter and tighter until she can no longer move at all. 

“That’s alright,” he continues in that frightfully light, conversational tone, “I prefer you without it. I despise pageantry - that is something you should know about me if you are to spend the next eternity in my company. I will tell the others not to paint you up again, for now, I can see _you,_ my little Rey. But here, one more adjustment shall we?”

Before she can stop him, he reaches up and undoes her hair, so that it falls loose on her shoulders. Then he violently presses his nose against her throat as he takes another deep inhale, making her shriek in surprise and dismay. When he speaks next, the deep timber of his voice vibrates roughly against her skin, making her flinch away from him at the confusing concoction of emotions that sensation summons. 

“Did you really think you were going to get away from me tonight? Hm?” When she does not answer, Kylo roars into her ear, “ _DID YOU?!_ ”

Rey whimpers again, the sound small and blisteringly impotent next to his fury. 

“No,” she manages to utter and yes - now she is crying. Blood runs down her face and her skin grows paler with each passing second. 

He clicks his tongue at the sight and then he is leaning over, much the same way he had that night at the tavern weeks ago, to lick the blood off her face. 

“What a waste,” he growls against the skin of her cheek and when his tongue touches down on bloodied skin, it too is warm. She closes her eyes so she does not have to watch, but all she can see against her closed eyelids is pink dusky thorns and seething need. The brunt of his terrifying desire makes her struggle against him again. 

Kylo only has to growl at her and she is stilled in place once more. 

“There is no use trying to fight your nature, Rey. No matter how much you lie to yourself, you can _never_ lie to me. Your denials are pointless and betray you as weak. Are you weak, my little flower?”

She does not know how to answer that in a way that will not enrage him further, but it does not seem to matter to him anymore what she says, or if she says anything at all. He yanks her by the throat until his nose is pressed against the side of her face. She stares at their reflections, at the black and shiny waves of his hair, and the pronounced curve of his shoulders and the pads of his chest, which are visible under the loose collar of his shirt.

Somehow, she finds her voice. 

“You’re a monster.” 

Kylo opens his eyes and turns his face, his nose sliding against her skin and the blood there, so that he can aim a grim smirk at her in the mirror. 

“You think so?” he murmurs in a way that is at complete odds with the way he had just screamed in her ear mere seconds ago. 

“ _Yes._ ” 

He holds her gaze for what feels like an eternity, a ghost of a smirk curling those unnaturally red and sensuous lips. Then he slowly and deliberately kisses the exposed skin of her throat, before emitting a long sigh that is about as genuine with pity as a whore’s eyebrows are with black kohl. 

“Perhaps, _lila,_ what you are really seeing is a reflection of yourself-”

“ _No I’m n_ -” Rey angrily interrupts, but then the hand on her throat squeezes, cutting her off from further speech. 

“- _and_ you just need me to show you.” His eyes glitter like malignant gems and he presses another soft kiss to her shoulder. “You and I are going downstairs, where Lady Irmele is having a little nap. The guards are already dead, my love, so don’t bother trying to scream for help… And if you try to _run,_ ” Kylo snarls this last part, the sharp points of his teeth scraping against the delicate line of her jaw, making her whimper once more, “it’s going to be _so much_ worse for you. I love our little games of cat and mouse, but tonight you are going to overcome this puling weakness of yours. They are _food_ and we are _everything_. We are darkness and night, and no matter how much you beg otherwise, this is our truth. Yours as much as mine.”

His hand drifts down from her throat, ghosting over her breasts and settles firmly over the soft swell of her stomach. With little warning, his hand surges to her hip, caging her into his arms and into his black little web. 

“Don’t,” Rey murmurs weakly.

Ebbs and pulses of lust surge from him and catch onto her like thistles, low in her stomach. 

“ _Don’t_?” Kylo repeats, disingenuously. His hand squeezes on her hip, making her close her eyes just to avoid the darkness in his eyes. “Oh, I am tempted to have you, just like this. You tremble so sweetly, _lila_.” 

A warm hardness presses into her backside, and even through the thick satin of her dress, she can feel _him_ , stiff and incessant. And _hot_. She has never lain with a man, no less seen their genitals, but she has seen horses mate and she knows the broad mechanics of the act. And right now, with him pressed against her so tightly, she can feel that he is _large_. 

Rey’s eyes snap open. 

“ _No_!” she screams and it is like a switch has been flipped inside her. “ _Don’t you dare touch me! I’ll rip your eyes out, I’ll-”_

“Oh Rey, I don’t know what sorts of rabid animals you have been laying with, but that makes for terrible foreplay.”

Rey shrieks at his words, and rocks back on her heels, attempting to buck him off of her the way an untamed stallion will an inexperienced rider. But Kylo only booms with his terrible laughter and roughly drags her from the bathroom. They step on Gerald’s body like he is not even there and her shoes slip in his blood. 

“ _No_!” she cries hoarsely, wild with rage and fear. “I will _never_ \- you, you _monster_ \- _let go of me_!”

“Are you sure? I would make it very good for you. You're so soft, _lila._ And your scent...” Kylo ends this word on a deep growl, his nose pressed against her throat once more. 

Before Rey can blink, they are floating in the air together and then they fly right over the bannister and back down to the main floor. His laughter rings in her ears as she snarls and growls and slaps at any part of him she can reach. 

“ _Get off of me_!” 

“Hmm, well if you won’t let me have you, maybe you’ll let me rest in your coffin with you tonight? Perhaps I can convince you then?”

He is still laughing, but violence and hunger swirl like an undertow to his words, making her heave against him even harder than before. 

In all her struggling she almost misses that they are in the parlour again. The old woman is passed out on the couch. Her wig has half fallen off, revealing hair that is grey and thinning. 

“Now Rey, as erotic as I find all your pathetic attempts to escape, I’m afraid we have some affairs to attend to.” Kylo lands them both on the floor and then his hands are like iron weights when he shoves on Rey’s shoulders, forcing her to her knees on the plush, expensive carpet, right next to the snoozing and unsuspecting Irmele. 

Before Rey can shoot back up to her feet and flee, he goes to his knees right behind her, caging her in the iron grasp of his arms so that she cannot move. She whips her head from side to side, silently struggling against the monster on her back like this will make any difference at all over what is about to happen next. 

Irmele stirs on the couch and when she turns her head, she sees two puncture marks on her throat. Her hunger perks up for a second, but it is akin to a kitten’s mewl - barely noticeable and without its usual teeth. Her fear and revulsion have overtaken all her senses; she does not want to do this. She does not want to be here in this apartment, with Kylo and this murderous old woman. This is not her life, it _cannot_ be her life…

Irmele makes a sound from her spot on the couch and she realizes she is murmuring rapidly in German. She is not fully awake yet but she is well on her way there. 

“Ah, Lady Irmele,” Kylo speaks from behind Rey, his tone lilted with amusement and sarcasm. “She finally awakens! And just in time too. My little _lila_ is famished, is she not?”

“ _Get the hell off of me_!” she shrieks, no longer trying to hold up the pretense of staying quiet. 

Irmele is stirring more fitfully now and her eyes are fluttering open. 

“That’s not very civilized, Rey. Poor Lady Irmele does not need to hear such foul language.” His nails scrape against her skin as he uses a hand to pull her hair out of the way so he can rest his chin on her shoulder. He presses a lingering kiss to the curve of her neck and Rey screams again, trying to buck him off of her. 

“What…?” Irmele mumbles.

She raises a shaking hand to her face and smears her makeup. When she blinks a few times, she turns to find Rey struggling against Kylo, not two feet away from her. Terror soon transforms the lady’s face from one of aristocratic sophistication to animal horror. Because that is what they are all beginning to look like to Rey now - animals, terrified little lambs up for slaughter. 

His other hand slides up the curve of Rey’s spine and then fists painfully in her hair, preventing her from struggling any further. When Irmele begins sunfishing away from the pair of them, her gaze glued to their glowing eyes and long and sharp incisors, his other hand reaches over her shoulder and he easily grasps Irmele’s bony wrist in his hand, dragging her over the edge of the sofa so that she falls painfully on the floor in a heap of silk and braying sobs. 

“Please no!” Irmele cries out. On her fingers, her vulgar diamonds, rubies and emeralds glitter like the tears and snot streaming down her face. “Guards! _Guards_! Help me! Oh God, _someone help me_!”

“Oh, Lady Irmele,” Kylo murmurs mournfully. He presses the side of his face against Rey’s and leers down at the old woman trapped between them and the couch with the viciousness of a snake. Rey closes her eyes and she can feel the bloody tears seeping between her eyelids. “The guards are dead, my dear. I drained them - and your little fop as well. Gerald, was it? Too bad you couldn’t watch. We know how you love to observe the death of your lovers. And your husbands too, of course.”

Irmele stills for a moment, her eyes going very wide at his words. 

His laughter rumbles against her back like a tide of thunder. “Oh yes, we know all about your proclivity for - shall we say - profitable widowdry.”

“Do you… do you want money?” Irmele says breathlessly. Her entire body is trembling.

Rey can feel it on her legs, with the way she is pressed against her. 

“Oh we’ll take what we need from your estate. _You_ certainly won’t be needing it anymore.” He laughs once more, like this is the funniest thing in the world, which only reduces Irmele to terrified sobbing. 

He lunges at Irmele’s wrist still grasped tightly in his hand. The old woman screams but he does not bite her, only roars with his horrible laughter at the way she flinches and cries out. She begins begging them, speaking rapidly in French, English, and German, though the woman is so terrified, Rey doubts she even knows she is switching between the languages. 

She tries shifting away from Kylo, but he only squeezes her hair again, yanking her against him so she cannot slip away. 

“Just do it,” she says in a voice that is trembling with so much fury and agony, the words are barely intelligible. 

Irmele collapses in her lap, her hands scrabbling at her dress like she hopes to escape her death through the folds of silk. 

Conversely, Rey is not struggling anymore. The bloody tears dry on her cheeks, like gory trails. Her body is limp with resignation, stilled by acceptance and dull rage. She just wants to get this over with, to end the games. To end this needless suffering. Irmele is a bad person, but she does not want to watch her being tortured to death. 

“What was that, _lila_?” Kylo presses another kiss to her shoulder and she can feel him staring at the side of her face, watching her but for what she does not know, nor care to know. 

“Finish this,” Rey intones quietly, wincing when the old woman flails against them, no doubt knowing exactly what she is telling him to do. 

“Oh no, my love,” he breathes into her neck. “No, no, no. _You_ are going to finish this. You are the only one who can end her suffering.”

“You started this-” Rey begins to yell, trying to turn her head to glare at him but his grip in her hair prevents her from doing so. 

Kylo makes a low sound then, a harsh kind of growl, though she has never heard any mortal creature utter such a sound. She can feel the anger behind it, the surge of power, and then his mouth is pressed to the shell of her ear. Everything within her stills, her instincts telling her that not only is the Irmele’s life in peril, but her own may be as well, such as it is. Even the lady ceases her struggles, her body going limp with paralyzing fear in Rey’s lap. She breathes harshly, her eyes closed as though she is a child and she is trying to pretend there are no monsters under her bed or in her closet. That she is not about to be devoured whole. 

“ _Rey_ ,” he murmurs and his voice - it is _unearthly_ , a deep timber of a beast. Or a wolf.

She knows to pay attention, to do nothing but listen lest the wolf eats her as well, down to the marrow. When his fingers tighten in her hair, she flinches in pain, but otherwise she remains absolutely still.

“You will take her. _Right now_. Or I shall make her ending long and agonizing. Her screams will remain a fixture in your mind for the rest of eternity, my love. You will live, knowing that you could have prevented her suffering. That you could have saved her from having her eyelids ripped off and her skin peeled, inch by inch… The choice is yours. Embrace your nature, or fight it - just know that the blood will always win and I will be your keeper from here to eternity, torturing innocent souls while I make you watch… _Unless_ -”

Kylo pauses here, turning her head with the hand in her hair until their noses are pressed together and his malevolent glowing green eyes are an inch away from her wide and horrified gaze. 

“- you _do_ what it is in your nature to do.”

“ _No, no, no, no l_. Please don’t kill me, please, please, _please,_ ” Irmele sobs. 

When Rey turns her face away from his haunting gaze, he lets her this time. She does not pause, she does not think about anything in that moment but the endless and lonely road ahead, that long night filled with only darkness and a pair of glowing green eyes for company. Seeing no other way out of this terrible situation, she reaches down for Irmele’s head, her hands sliding through tears and greasy makeup. 

With a brutal and resounding _crack,_ she snaps the old woman's neck and when she relinquishes her grasp, Lady Irmele falls to the floor, dead. 

Everything goes still behind her. 

She waits for Kylo to kill her. To rip her head from her shoulders, or to do the things he said he would do to Irmele, but to her instead. She does not have to wait long. 

He roars with such sudden fury, some of the windows in the room explode in a shower of glass. He tears through the room in a flash of movement, destroying the expensive furniture and paintings with his bare hands when she knows he would really like to destroy her right now. Tear her apart, piece by piece.

But he doesn’t and she cannot understand why. 

Instead, Rey just sits in the middle of the wreckage, with a dead murderess in her lap and dried blood all over her face. She does not go so far as to call herself victorious, despite the unexpected way in which she has thwarted him, but she feels…

Calm. Calmer than she has since her death and rebirth. 

_It was the only way._

She will tell herself this on that night and in the nights to come, even after he has dragged her back to the Manor in a fit of fervent rage, even after he locks her in her bedroom and does not let her out to feed or bathe or do anything for almost two weeks. Luke makes no move to interfere either, and none of the others come to her aid. 

Rey decides somewhere around night seven of her solitary confinement that it might have been worth it after all. That even though she had not wanted to kill Irmele, the old woman was dead as soon as she invited them back to her apartment. Dead, in the same way Rey’s family had been dead as soon as her beastly siblings entered her home. Dead the same way Rey had been, when she faced down a pack of monsters in a dark forest with nothing but a silver sword. 

_The only way, the only way, theonlywaytheonlywaytheonlyway…_

It is after that night that she learns something very important. Kylo may lock her up in her room, he may scream and rage, and terrify her endlessly, but he will not so much as hurt a hair on her head. He will not kill her. 

She just does not know why.


	8. The Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re my keeper,” Rey remarks, not without great bitterness. 
> 
> Finn pauses - the motion is short and barely perceptible, but she catches it all the same. When he turns back to look at her, he is smiling more broadly. Like he is proud that his dog has learned the trick he has been trying to teach it for months. 
> 
> Rey does not appreciate the look or the insinuation. 
> 
> “He said you had some brains. I did not believe him until now.”
> 
> Rey makes a tentative ally and begins to learn more about her enigmatic family and the even more enigmatic Kylo. 
> 
> ***Warning for feeding on animals in this chapter. I love animals and do not condone violence against any creatures - but Rey is low on options at this point in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First image from The Last Jedi (Disney). 
> 
> Second image - from cater-picker on Tumbler. (also, I love Finn and Rey interactions, and they are sure to happen some more in the future!)

Thirteen days.

Thirteen days, seventeen hours and twenty-six minutes.

Rey has not heard or seen from anyone in all that time and though she hates Kylo and her capricious siblings, she is going _mental_ with boredom, starvation, and exhaustion.

Right up until the moment the doorknob to her bedroom rattles. 

She does not know what to expect - Kylo, Luke, or any of the others - and so, when it is Finn who is on the other side of the door, she gives him a cautious glare and remains huddled behind her coffin. 

He is dressed more casually than she has ever seen him. He wears a white collared shirt that is unbuttoned to his mid-chest and a pair of tightly fitted trousers. Like Kylo, Finn is of bigger build, though he is much shorter than the raven-haired vampire. Seeing that he is not wearing shoes either, she wonders if he has even left the Manor tonight and if the others are lingering nearby as well. 

Her eyes narrow further.

“Hungry?” Finn asks with an airiness that's sets her teeth on edge. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

She has not spoken to anyone in two weeks and although she has no need for water anymore, the blood seems to provide similar needs. Her throat is dry, and she feels frail, worn out, and exhausted. A few days ago, she discovered a few rats making a nest out of a broken armchair in the corner of her room and quickly drained them. It was not until hours later that she greatly regretted her impulsiveness. She should have saved one of the poor rodents for later, but by then the hunger had returned in full force.

The rats had not stood a chance. 

“Well, you’re still alive. So that’s something.” Finn casually leans on her doorframe and although he is not entirely blocking the way out, she feels that the gesture is intentional.

And a stark reminder that she is, in all but name, a prisoner here. 

“Relatively.” 

Finn purses his lips, like he might be amused. She certainly isn't and she goes on glaring at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He is a quite handsome smile, she notes with reluctance. There is an easy charm to the loose and careless way he holds himself. They’ve barely exchanged a handful of words since she has come to “live” here. From what she has observed of him, he and Hux are attached at the hip. She doesn't know if vampires marry - or are even capable of love for that matter - but if they are, she would wager that they are a couple, of at least some caliber. 

Though now that she thinks of it, Hux is nowhere to be seen. She would have expected that if Finn was coming by to mock her, his partner in crime would be here too. But he isn’t.

When she strains to listen to the rest of the house, all she hears are creaking floorboards and dusty silence. 

If she is right, no one else is in the Manor right now but the two of them. 

“Hux, Rose, and Kylo are out on a hunt. The others went into the city for refreshments and Luke is… gone. Somewhere.” Finn shrugs at her when she narrows her eyes further, mistaking her suspicion for annoyance over not knowing Luke’s whereabouts. “What? I don’t keep track of our Maker. He goes where he wants when he wants. It is not for us to question.”

“I couldn’t care less where Luke or the others are.”

She _barely_ refrains from telling him that they can all take a long walk on a sunny day, but only just.

He grins at her anyway, like he can see the thought written all over her face.

“Are you…?” She pauses to chew over her words before deciding to just come out with it. “Are you doing that thing that _he_ does?” 

The “he” does not need to be clarified. Finn smirks knowingly and she scowls. 

“The ‘thing’?” he repeats through his amused grin. 

“That mind-reading thing.”

“Ah.” He nods, his smile not quite fading away. “I am not, actually. That is a gift I do not possess. Only Kylo, Luke, and… _you_ possess that ability, if I am not mistaken.” 

“Fascinating,” she mutters crossly. 

“I only say that they are out of the house right now to - ah - _ease_ any worries you might have. Kylo has an awful temper and I feared you might waste away in here before he decided to release you.”

She sniffs and looks away, unwilling to respond. 

“You must have really angered him. You’ll have to tell me what you did to get him to destroy the drawing-room _and_ his bedroom.” 

She does not visibly react to this new information, though she is admittedly shocked. She knows how angry Kylo was - he had thrown her in here after all and locked the door behind him. But she had not known that he had damaged parts of the Manor as well. 

Rey almost smiles at that happy thought. 

“Come.” She looks at Finn again, her posture stiffening but he only raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue impatiently. “Well, you are hungry aren’t you? And before you think of doing anything silly, just remember that I am older and more powerful than you. You’ve had - what - _rats_ if I had to wager a guess. You wouldn’t get very far, I assure you.”

Rey sneers at him and shakes her head slowly. “I don’t care what you try to do to me, I won’t kill anyone else.” She does not bother trying to argue with him about the merits of attempting another escape when she knows he is right - she can barely stand on her feet let alone attempt to outrun him. 

Instead of laughing at her this time, Finn tilts his head like she is some fuzzy animal he does not yet know the name for. He clicks his tongue again, lost in thought before his expression clears and he straightens up off her doorframe. 

“Have you had deer?”

Somehow, this is the last thing Rey expects to hear. She rears back in confusion, the automatic answer on her tongue is that yes, she has had deer. Her father hunted and there was always an assortment of game at the dinner table every night. But then, she realizes his true meaning and goes back to her cautiousness; unwilling to trust because after all, she has seen just how vicious and cruel he can be, even if he and the others are not nearly as savage as Kylo.

Finn was there that night too, just like the others. He took part in killing her family and she will not forget that anytime soon. 

“No,” she murmurs after a pregnant pause. 

“We keep it around in case we cannot hunt humans. Winters can be tough to find prey.” 

“Oh."

“Come,” Finn repeats. His smile is cryptic and he leaves the door open as he retreats into the hallway. 

Rey is left with no other choice than to follow him. 

Deer blood, as it turns out, tastes just as gamey as the meat. She does not like it much, but she cannot deny the strange, companionable silence that drifts over the two of them as they drink deer’s blood from gold goblets. The carcass hangs from the ceiling in one of the many rooms in the Manor’s kitchens. 

She avoids looking at it. As it turns out, her guilt now extends to woodland creatures. 

Surprisingly, Finn does not taunt her, nor comment on her aversion to hunting humans. He does not interrogate her, or threaten her, or get in her personal space. He just… drinks with her and idly cleans in his fingernails until they are done. He is not warm or friendly, but he is not outwardly cruel toward her either. She wonders if it is because the others are not here, or it might be for some other reason. 

Still, she does not stop throwing him suspicious little glances all night. 

Afterwards, Finn escorts her to the bathroom, where she has a bath and changes back into her blue dress. She brushes the tangles from her hair and emerges from the bathroom feeling - if not human - at least a little more like herself. 

He then returns her to her room and when the door closes behind her, she does not hear the lock click.

The gesture confuses her, but she ultimately decides not to try her luck and leave her room without an escort. That could have easily just been a test, to see if she will try to escape. She would rather not spend another two weeks - or longer - confined to her bedroom. 

Most troubling of all though, Rey does not know how to feel about what just happened and although she still does not trust Finn, she thinks that it might be possible that he could be… different. A little bit. For one of their kind. 

*

Rey awakens the next night and finds that her door is still unlocked.

She waits a few hours, pacing around her room and then sitting in the corner when there is no sign of Finn or anyone else.

Finally, when the hunger has gotten to be too much, she decides to be bold and check out the corridor. She tentatively leaves the bedroom when she sees no one outside. She does not know where to go, or where she might locate Finn, so she returns to the kitchens. 

First, she visits the butcher’s room he took her to. She travels through the myriad of rooms, exploring the maze of corridors and food preparation areas that once existed as the kitchens for the nobles who must have once owned this Manor before the Skywalker Clan took over. But the deer is gone and she cannot locate any more blood, so she decides to try the other rooms. 

Unfortunately, she gets lost along the way and finds herself in a large dining hall. 

“You shouldn’t be out,” a deep, heavily accented voice murmurs in the dark. 

Rey blinks through the dim candlelight and spots four pairs of glowing red eyes in the dimness of the room.

It is, however, their scents that give them away. 

Bazine smells like lavender and thyme, and something heavier and duskier that might have made her sneeze had she still been human. Kaydel is light and floral, like the perfume of flowers in midsummer and just as cloyingly sweet. Mitaka smells like a butcher’s shop, all bitter and iron-copper tang. And Jango smells like… Ocean air, salt and rock, and the faintest hint of chamomile, as strange as that should be. 

The speaker is Jango - the sibling she is least acquainted with out of all the Skywalkers. He is short and stocky and always keeps his hair in long braids. His face is wide, his complexion dark and olivine. To Rey, his features appear as though carved from stone; all sharp angles and wide, stretching plains. His eyes are slightly slanted - like Rose’s - and his mouth is large and his lips full - like Finn’s. His accent is completely foreign to her; he almost sounds English, but his consonants are flat and his voice low and raspy. 

“You should mind your own business,” Rey replies stiffly, appraising each of the vampires with a glare. 

Bazine smirks. Rey glares harder. 

“Make sure I’m around when Kylo gets back,” Kaydel simpers, “I wouldn’t want to miss what he does to you when he discovers you’re out and about.”

She does not get a chance to reply because suddenly there is a new voice in the room. 

“I let her out.”

Rey spins around to find Finn leaning against the doorframe to the dining hall. Mitaka hisses at the interruption, though Jango remains as quiet and watchful as ever. 

“Are you _insane,_ brother? When the others get back, there will be hell to pay,” Bazine snaps incredulously. Her dark hair shines like gloss under the weak candlelight, shot through with strands of auburn and deep umber. Her dress, Rey notes, barely conceal her breasts, though from the saucy looks Kaydel and Mitaka throw her way, she cannot help but wonder if this choice is intentional. Bazine seems to crave attention - especially from those two. 

“Oh _nooooo_ ,” Finn replies with such dryness, Rey nearly sputters. He does not bother to glance at Bazine once. Instead, he idly cleans his fingernails like the others are not even fit for him to acknowledge. 

Bazine growls at him, her eyes glinting dangerously. 

“Kylo said-” Kaydel begins in a whining tone that sets Rey’s teeth on edge. 

“I know what Kylo said, _mjinga,_ ” Finn replies sharply, looking away from his nails to glare at Kaydel. His eyes glint in the muted light, red and searing, only for them to return to their more human dark brown. 

Rey does not know the word he uses - it is deep and guttural, and she wonders if this is his native language. Based on the nasty look on Kaydel’s face, she can easily intuit that he just insulted her. 

The others subside after this, looking properly chastised for the first time that Rey has seen since the first night when Luke threw Mitaka across the foyer. 

Then, Finn carelessly waltzes up to Rey, only for her to hiss and spit herself when he grasps her by the forearm and drags her from the room. Mitaka’s eyes glitter at her and he leans across the table to murmur lowly to Bazine. The two breaks into a fit of laughter.

Rey screeches at them before Finn drags her around the corner and out of sight. 

“You shouldn’t just wander about like that. You might amuse me, but the others will tear you apart. They love fresh meat,” Finn remarks before releasing her arm. 

Rey realizes that they are at the bottom of the stairs by the front entrance and she hesitates when he starts up them. She has never ventured upstairs. That is where _he_ and the others sleep, and she has no interest in being caught up there with them. At least downstairs, she can barricade her room against them. But up there…

Finn stops halfway and turns to her impatiently. In a blink of an eye, he is right in front of her and has grasped her forearm once more, dragging her up the stairs before she can think to protest.

“Would you stop hauling me around?” Rey snaps. Despite her outrage, his fingers wind with hers. She tries to yank her hand away but he only holds her tighter. “Let _go_ of my hand!”

“In a minute, _macho ya kijani_. Let’s get upstairs first, where it is safer.”

“Then lead me there,” she hisses at him, “and _stop_ taking my hand.”

“Don’t get so excited.” Finn aims a languid smirk at her over his shoulder. “You’re not my type. Too much tits and pussy for my liking.”

Rey bristles at his lewd language but grudgingly allows him to bring her upstairs. Well, she can at least not fear any sordid attention from him. Maybe she is _tentatively_ safe in his company. Not like the others, not like Kylo…

At the thought of Kylo, several unbidden memories surface to the forefront. She remembers the way he had pressed himself against her in the bathroom of Irmele’s apartment. Even though the memory is two weeks old, she can still feel that warm hardness that had at once felt so _huge_ and so terrifying. The way the dark hunger in his eyes had made her stomach twist and coil in recognition….

But no. _No_. She would _never_ \- not in a thousand or a million lifetimes would she _ever_ consider - 

“Hurry up, would you?” Finn barks over his shoulder and Rey almost trips over her own feet when he sharply tugs her around yet another corridor. 

She glares at the back of his head and fruitlessly tries to prize her hand out of his grasp, but like the last dozen times, she has no luck. She supposes he _might_ be trying to help her… in his own strange way. What she does not understand is why and the first chance she gets, she intends to find out. 

They walk down a winding corridor, up a few more flights of stairs, past several old oil paintings and over a handful of moth-eaten carpets, until they finally reach what she discovers to be the east wing of the Manor.

This part of the estate is in much better care; the carpets are newer, the draperies are heavy and clean, the linens smell freshly laundered, and the walls do not hold a greasy gleam to them like other parts of the house. 

After Finn brings her into a large sitting room with yet another roaring fireplace, she has just enough time to peek into the next room to see a massive four-poster bed, when the door closes behind them. He leans against it, appraising her suspicious glare with a raised brow like he is waiting for her to perform a magic trick or something.

She shifts awkwardly under his gaze and half turns to take in the room. 

“What did you call me before?” Rey does not know why she decides to begin with this question, only that she is sick of all these murmured “pet names” they have for her. Moreover, she is sick of not knowing what most of them mean. 

“‘Green eyes’,” Finn replies with a faint smirk. 

She sniffs and looks away from him to examine the room more closely. “These are your quarters… you and Hux’s.”

“Correct. Armie and I like our privacy.”

“Armie?” Rey wrinkles her nose and wonders if this is yet another pet name. 

“Armitage,” Finn replies absently. “That’s his first name.”

He sweeps across the room and she notes once again that he is not wearing shoes or boots. He is wearing the same white shirt as he was the other day, and the same tight trousers. 

Rey is clever - her father always used to call her his little fox. If her brothers or sisters were scheming against her, she could smell it from a mile away. And right now, she can practically taste the mischief all over this man. 

“You’re my keeper,” Rey remarks, not without great bitterness. 

Finn pauses - the motion is short and barely perceptible, but she catches it all the same. When he turns back to look at her, he is smiling more broadly. Like he is proud that his dog has learned the trick he has been trying to teach it for months. 

She does not appreciate the look or the insinuation. 

“He said you had some brains. I did not believe him until now.”

 _Of course,_ he _did. The bastard is the bane of my existence,_ Rey thinks and she has to bite her tongue from speaking the words out loud. 

“I thought _he_ wanted me locked away.” 

She is careful here - careful not to give away the fear she still feels, even though Kylo is not even in the same house as her right now. Finn might be looking after her, but he is not her friend. She does not know or trust him.

“ _He_ did,” Finn says carelessly. He drapes himself across a chaise lounge that looks suspiciously like one of the pieces of furniture that were in Lady Irmele’s apartments and gestures towards an opaque pitcher on a small oval table. 

She can already smell the blood. Gamey, deer. 

Rey relaxes marginally and takes a seat in the armchair next to him. She continues looking around, unable to help her curiosity. She has been locked in a room for two weeks with no company - just occupying a different room is something of a relief to her. 

“If he wants me locked up, then why am I here?” 

Finn rolls his eyes at her and reaches over to pour two goblets of blood when it becomes apparent that she will not do it herself. 

“Because Kylo isn’t an idiot. He knows what the others are like. They’re young, those four. All made within decades of each other, when Luke was - well, anyway.” 

It’s not much, his little awkward pause, but Rey notes it all the same. When Luke was _what_ , she wonders, but she knows she will not get a straight answer today. Or ever, most likely. 

“They’re not much older than you,” Finn continues like nothing has happened. “And they’re incredibly stupid. Only Jango is truly loyal to Kylo - he was made first out of the four of them - but he’s still a lumbering imbecile. The young ones have always done as they please until they are - ah - _reminded_ of their place.” 

Finn eyes her meaningfully and she stops her inspection of the room to scowl at him. 

“So you do know why he locked me away.”

To her surprise, Finn does not get mad at her pique. From what she has observed of him, very little seems to perturb him… unlike a certain someone else. 

“I know enough.” 

He hands her a goblet and after a second’s hesitation, she takes it from him. He sips on the blood and winces at the temperature. A second later, she does the same.

Cold blood is absolutely vile - but it is enough to sustain her for now. 

“I wouldn’t have bothered to let you out at all, but Kylo has taken such pains over your _education_.” Finn pauses here to smirk at her again. When she makes an aggravated sound, his grin only widens. “Also, I had to see what the fuss was about. We haven’t turned anyone interesting in centuries. Kaydel was the last one and well… You see how she is; as vacuous as an old maid’s cunt.”

Rey almost chokes on her blood and averts her gaze from the knowing leer on his face. 

“That language is foul and completely unnecessary.”

God, is that all they think about when they’re not slaughtering innocent people? Rey avoids his gaze and shakes her head with exasperation and disgust. 

“Well, I guess Hux owes me a hundred Francs after all,” Finn mutters under his breath, but before she can demand to know whatever _that_ means, he changes the subject like he never said anything, “You won’t be able to keep up your little farce forever, you know. Kylo won’t let you.”

Rey thinks she knows what he is talking about this time and she peers down at her empty goblet with a sinking feeling in her stomach. The deer’s blood is not nearly the same as human blood. It is unsatisfactory and revolting, but she knows it is more than that. They are _meant_ to kill humans. Like bears and wolves and all other predators. 

But she cannot accept that. She _won’t_ accept that. 

“Rey,” Finn says quietly, almost cautiously. She meets his gaze warily. “You can’t win against him. You can’t. When they’re not around, you can get away with your moralizing, but when he’s here… He’ll make you do it. You have to know that.”

“Look how well that turned out for him last time,” Rey murmurs and she can feel the anger and resentment boiling up in her cold, dead blood. Kylo locked her away for _two weeks_ , but still he could not break her resolve. 

Finn tilts his head at her and she feels very much as though he is trying to see to the inside of her skull. 

“I find you…” he pauses, purses his lips and then nods to himself. “Intriguing, I suppose. So does Kylo. You have that old Skywalker blood in you - more so than the others. You and Kylo -”

“Do _not_ say we are the same,” Rey snaps at him with such sudden vehemence, he looks momentarily taken aback. 

His eyes glitter then and he leans forward to grasp her hand in his. Rey tries to pull away, her teeth winking out between her lips, but he holds her fast. 

“No, you’re not the same, but you have that old power. The both of you. That is part of what makes you so intriguing, Rey.” Suddenly, Finn’s grasp of her tightens as his expression takes on what seems very much like a beseeching note. This, more than anything else, holds her attention to him and stays her struggles. “Don’t mistake that intrigue for immunity, little sister. Kylo is the most powerful vampire I have ever met aside from our Maker and he… tends to get what he wants, one way or another. Rose and Hux always go along with his whims. They’re just as bloodthirsty as he is, so there is no point in turning to any of the others for help.”

Rey laughs though there is little humour behind it. “I would not go to Rose for help in a million years. She despises me.”

Finn snorts softly, but he does not deny it either. 

“Rose is territorial. We all are, really, but her especially. Kylo does what he wants, with whoever he wants.” 

He pauses here, looking at her significantly to ensure she understands his meaning. She blanches, but she, too, does not deny the obvious. As he speaks more of Kylo, his tone takes on a note of reverence she finds equally fascinating and repulsive - only because of _who_ he is speaking of.

“Kylo has always been a free spirit. He is the oldest and the most powerful of us - he is our leader, when Luke is away. Rose was turned not long after him, so she is especially possessive over him. You can see why your being here might cause her some strife.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Rey exclaims. She snatches her hand away from Finn and crosses her arms in front of her in a fit of petulance. And denial, too, of course. “If anyone has been given any _strife_ here, it is me.”

“Be that as it may,” Finn replies a tad too dismissively for her liking, “you can understand why she does not like you. Be thankful I was put in charge of your care and she was not.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

But she does. She knows _exactly_ what he is referring to, even if she refuses to acknowledge it. There, like a phantom against her backside, is the impression of the very thing she is attempting to forget. The impression of Kylo, all hard and warm and… 

Rey clears her throat and fiddles with a small ceramic figurine on the table next to her. 

“Ah yes. Kylo warned me about this as well.”

She huffs at the mention of his name and shifts her jaw in aggravation. “Oh and what was that?”

“Your hopeless denials.” 

There is something to his tone that gives Rey pause and she finds herself glancing back at him. He is not really looking at her, though, but off into the distance. Her mother used to call it a “ fool’s wandering”, as Rey was often caught by her mother wool-gathering herself. This memory, for once, only gives her a faint pang of homesickness and grief. 

She is far too focused on the look on Finn’s face and the strange cast to his thoughts. She does not try to overhear them - she is not sure how much she wants to know about this strange vampire if she is still hellbent on killing all of them - but there is a familiarity to his look that she cannot deny. 

“You…” Rey trails off with something close to wonder. “You were like me, before. Weren’t you?” She carries on with stronger conviction, despite the weak scowl Finn throws her way. “Yes! When you were first turned, you were like me until they - what - _broke_ you?”

“Just trust me when I tell you that any resistance you put up will be pointless,” he tells her, as though she has not spoken at all. “You cannot fight your nature forever. The blood always wins, no matter what you try to substitute it with. You will always find your way back here. And if you don’t…”

 _He will make you,_ she hears in his head. 

Rey goes to speak, but before she can get any words out there is a rustling sound behind them and then Finn has left his chair. A new voice fills the room and she knows without looking that it is Hux - or Armie, as Finn apparently calls him. His nasally English accent is unmistakable. 

“My love! You better be naked on our bed or I - _oh_. We have a guest, do we?”

“You’ve returned, my darling!”

Finn’s tone has completely changed and she knows without him having to tell her that they are to never speak of their conversation to anyone. Whatever small risk he put himself at to share that information with her, she knows the true intent behind his message. 

She cannot win against Kylo. 

But, as Hux flies into the room to sweep Finn into his arms and she is left to stare at the floor awkwardly as the two men embrace, she finds she cannot accept that. 

She will continue to fight, in her own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili Translations:
> 
> (keep in mind this is using English letters and not the letters and punctuation used in these languages)
> 
> mjinga - fool  
> macho ya kijani - green eyes


	9. A Feast of Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows what she is seeing before her mind can fully comprehend it. She knows it in her guts, deep in her guts, because although she is horrified and repulsed, she also feels what they feel. The blood never lies. 
> 
> A trap is laid for Rey, though she does not yet understand what the consequences will mean for her, and she meets a new player to this dangerous game of chess she is playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we start to earn that Explicit Sexual Content rating. 
> 
> Some notes for this chapter: Accidental Voyeurism that soon turns into very intentional voyeurism. Kylo engages in sexual acts with several characters that are not Rey - a reminder that he is pansexual, so he will have *relations* with male characters too. Despite this, sex is a transactional act for Kylo, about pleasure and domination. Until, of course, that will eventually change after a certain main character has entered his life... 
> 
> *** Warning for graphic violence, forced feeding, and graphic sexual content. The sex is all consensual. 
> 
> Image One: kittrose tumblr

They steal from those they kill; jewels, money, furniture, gold, paintings, pianos, even their clothing - it is all taken from their victims, like magpies collecting shiny treasures to take back to the nest. 

Rey suspected as much weeks ago, but she confirms this theory later in the evening when she is escorted back downstairs by Finn and Hux. The former has avoided eye contact with her ever since Hux returned and the latter keeps throwing her sardonic little smirks every time she happens to look his way, like he knows something she does not. 

She endeavours to ignore them, though she cannot help but feel like there is something she is missing. By the time they reach a large sitting room, everyone else is already there. 

The ballroom is opulent and beautiful, to say the very least. 

The walls are painted a deep teal and the candlelight creates a pretty fading effect on the walls, as though whoever painted them shaded the bottom of the wall darker and the top section lighter. Above the room hangs a gorgeous chandelier, glittering prettily under the candlelight and adorned in gold and crystals - which she suspects are real.

Paintings and mirrors hang all over the room, each one more expensive and intricate then the last. The furniture is more or less in good shape, though she can tell some of the pieces are ancient. The chairs and chaises are carved from cherry, rose, and teak wood, the frames interlaid with gold and silver leafing. The cushions and fabrics are silks and satins, in gorgeous jewel tones. 

It does not take Rey long to recognize some art pieces and furniture from Lady Irmele’s apartments. Each of her siblings is dressed in new clothing too; Bazine and Kaydel’s fingers are festooned in rings that suspiciously resemble the vulgar jewellery Irmele wore on the night of her death. 

She takes stock of all who are in attendance tonight, spotting each of her siblings, though there is one notable exception missing from the gathering. Luke has been absent for weeks now and it is only then that she recalls her maker cryptically mentioning a “great hunt” to her. Perhaps it is better that Luke is not home; he does not seem overly inclined to aid her against her wily siblings anyway and…

Rey pulls up short before they make it ten steps into the ballroom. Hux and Finn bump into her, but she does not acknowledge their muttered curses, nor does she pay attention to the whispered insults and blood-curdling giggles from Bazine, Mitaka, and Kaydel. 

Green eyes greet her from across the room and suddenly that is _all_ she is concerned with. 

Kylo is seated on a lounge - or, more aptly, he is _laying_ across it. Dressed in his usual high collared black coat, white dress shirt and black trousers, his wide and sensual mouth stretches into a lopsided grin the moment he spots her. His head is in Rose’s lap. She runs her fingers through his raven’s locks like there are lovers, like _anyone_ would beg to have her place. 

Though he does not appear surprised or upset to see that Rey is out and about, she knows better than to trust him and his unpredictable temper. She says nothing to Kylo or any of the others and keeps her head down. It's not worth the agony, not worth the breath it takes to mutter those hollow curses their way. She resumes walking towards the seats furthest away from them.

Despite her efforts, she does not make it very far.

“No hello, then _lila_? Didn’t you miss me?” Kylo calls to her, booming over everyone else’s conversations.

Kaydel titters and Mitaka wolf-whistles from where they sit together on a small and ornate sofa. Behind her, Finn and Hux laugh just as boisterously as all the others.

Rey wishes she did not feel so betrayed. Finn has made it abundantly clear which side of the fence he is on, so she should not be surprised when he returns to his former antics. 

Still, she cannot help the surge of fury that springs up within her. She stands before them as their own personal laughing stock, expected to bear their torment and cruelty, expected to accept this all with what - good grace and a subservient curtsy?

She has to grind her teeth to keep from spewing the venom of her anger at them and most especially at Kylo. She keeps walking, her footsteps muffled by the plush and expensive rug.

Finn's laughter dries up quicker than the others. She can sense that he is seconds away from restraining her if he needs to. That he can feel her fury quite keenly, for all his talk of not possessing any of the Skywalker traits.

Yet, somehow, Rey manages not to break into a hysterical rage. Finally, after all these weeks and months, she is slowly and painfully retaining better control over her vampiric impulses. 

Judging from Kylo’s knowing smirk, he can sense this as well. 

She think she is doing rather well - until Rose decides to give her a greeting of her own.

“How was your vacation, little flower? Did you keep busy?” 

There is more laughter at this, inane and fiendish cackling that sets her nerves on edge. Hux brushes past her to go sit with Kylo and Rose. Surprisingly, Finn remains with her, ready to reign her in if he needs to.

Through what Rey privately thinks of as unbelievable self-control she just keeps walking, skirting around Jango’s chair and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. 

“Really. Nothing to say?” Rose asks with disingenuous curiosity. 

She stops in her tracks, despite herself, and when the floor creaks behind her, she knows that Finn is a hair away from grabbing her. Rose cackles as she watches the pair of them, her gaze flitting from Rey to Finn before settling back on her. 

“Oh dear, are you finally house trained? Or shall we lock you away some more, hm?” 

Rey does not know why, but her gaze flits to Kylo. Does she expect him to rescue her? He was the one who imprisoned her in her bedroom. He's probably loving this.

As though to prove her pont, he does not say a word to stop this spectacle. He just goes on smirking at her, with Rose’s fingers buried in his hair. 

“Next time,” Rose continues with a conspiratorial wink, “we can keep you busy. Put you to work… What did you do before, in your cozy cottage with your family? Knit little scarves and hats for all your bratty little brothers and sisters?”

The room erupts into raucous and screeching mirth but she does not see or hear them anymore - not in that moment. She does not see Kylo’s condescending grin as he reclines in Rose’s lap, nor does she listen to the way the others jeer and gibber and cackle like mad hyenas. She does not rightly feel like she is _here_ anymore. Like she is anywhere safe or sane or real. 

It is flashes that she sees, with the laughter of these creatures droning off into white noise. Bloody flashes filled with screaming and violence and death. She sees her childhood home, she sees her family, but there is no cure for the feeling of utter despair that rents through her.

She can see her sister, Elise, lying in the middle of the hallway between their bedrooms with her throat ripped out. Elise was always the pretty one, with her blue eyes and blonde hair. Too kind to ever raise her voice, even when they were barely out of diapers and Rey stole her doll and cut all its hair off…

She can see Phillippa scrambling away on her hands and knees in the foyer by their front door as a creature of darkness descends from the ceiling to scoop her up like a spider.

She can hear papa bellowing at her and the others to run, and she can hear his gurgling death cries as one of them tears a hole into his chest.

She can _feel_ the way her slippered feet slip in Jacob’s blood on her way into the kitchens with mama ( _oh he was her favourite, he was her everything, her_ _petite_ _frere_ ), how mama thrust that sword into her hands and pushed her out into the backyard, and how mama _screamed_ as Rey left her there to die…

The ballroom rushes back to her in a barrage of sound and light. 

Her gaze sweeps around the room to take in the varied levels of amusement at her expense; at the way Kaydel collapses across Mitaka’s lap and the two hold each as they titter and cackle; how Bazine purrs and licks at Jango’s cheek as they snicker and snide; how Hux’s nasally giggles ring through her ears like a dining bell…. 

And how Rose’s eyes are narrowed at her in speculation, her lips quirked in a nasty little grin. 

Oh, it would be so easy to lash out. To throw the candles at them and _burnandscratchandtearouttheirtonguesandeyeballs_ , but there are far too many of them. Finn would stop her before she could even take a step towards them. 

Instead of acting out on those heady impulses, she envisions her anger as a tangible object that she can lock away within her mind; like a stone she can pick up and throw into a small rectangular box, that she can lock it up and swallow the key and just _pretend everything is fine, pretend, pretend, pretend and SURVIVE_.

She looks directly at Rose with her chin raised. The others quiet down when they see Rey means to speak. To see how she might dance for them now. 

“As I'm sure you recall, Rose, I'm good with a knife,” Rey tells her in a voice that is so dull and calm she has trouble recognizing herself, “If you lend me one, I’m sure I can put it to good use.”

It is as though all the sound has gone out of the world. Everyone stills and the only thing she can hear is a muted curse from behind her. From Finn. 

Rose’s hand pauses in combing through Kylo’s hair and though Rey is pointedly keeping her eyes locked on hers, she can feel him staring at her. There are no more smirks or giggles from around the room - everyone seems to be holding their breath in wait. 

“What did you say to me?” Rose murmurs in a dangerously low voice. The dark brown of her eyes is gone now and replaced by the glowing red Rey knows all too well. 

“You were pondering if you might put me to work the next time one of you decides to lock me up,” Rey answers her in the same dull tone.

That locked box is buried deep now, far below where anyone can find it. Her fury might _rattle_ and _quake_ but she will no longer give it any room to breathe. Not until the moment she can kill every last one of these foul monsters. Until then, she will bury it, the way she never could her family, and as long as it is _away_ and _gone_ these fiends cannot touch her. 

She has to believe that if she is to survive them. 

Rose goes to speak again, her eyes flashing dangerously, but that dead, calm voice beats her to it. Rey supposes it is _her_ speaking, but there is something separate about that voice, as though it does not really belong to her at all. It will take her many years to recognize that this voice is not separate at all, but the voice of her vampiric self.

Of her new powers. 

“If you _do_ plan on locking me up again, bring me a knife. I will knit a pretty scarf for you, dear _sister_ , though you might not like the results,” Rey tells her in French. There is a small, secretive smile playing on her lips as she says this, the barest inflection of humour. 

But there is little humour in her eyes. They have transformed into a deep shade of seething amber and the threat is all too implicit in the air between them. 

Rose makes a sharp sound that is not quite a hiss, but then Kylo is suddenly standing above her before she can get up. He places a hand on his sister’s shoulder to still her and Rose quickly subsides... but not before she aims a look of utter loathing Rey’s way. 

Her small, secretive smile only widens in response. 

“ _Enough_ , sisters,” Kylo growls. “Tonight we celebrate. The hunt was plentiful and I will not have any bickering.” 

Rey glances up at Kylo and her smile vanishes. His hand remains on Rose’s shoulder, but it is Rey he is looking at. It is _her_ that he addresses. She notes the darkened emerald of his eyes and decides to hold her tongue for the time being. 

That shade of green can only mean two things and she has no interest in either. 

Hux leans over to whisper to Rose and she finally tears her gaze away from Rey to murmur something back to him, quite angrily from what she can tell. She cannot hear them, but she knows whatever he said to her had something to do with her. 

When Rey glances back at Kylo, his gaze is dark and assessing. 

“Come on,” Finn mutters to her. 

Rey does not move right away. For a second, she almost senses that Kylo… _approves_ , though she cannot tell if it is of her, or something else. She quickly decides she does not want to know. 

“Rey, come on,” Finn repeats with far less patience. 

She breaks eye contact with Kylo and suddenly she feels like she can move again. 

After a moment of tense silence, the others begin chatting amongst themselves again. Rose is still glaring daggers at Rey, but then Finn takes her arm and steers her to two armchairs close to a stone fireplace at the back of the room - far away from Rose and Kylo. 

Rey has barely leaned back in her chair before Finn lunges forward with the first look of true anger she has seen from him. She recoils on instinct, snapped back to the moment and out of Kylo’s orbit more effectively than if he slapped her across the face. 

“Do you have a deathwish, you fool?”

Rey blinks back at Finn in shock. She quickly scans the room and is relieved to see that Kylo has taken his seat on the lounge with Rose again, only this time he does not lie across her lap. Rose does not look very pleased by the new seating arrangements, but that is about as far as Rey gets in her observations before a pair of fingers snaps in front of her face. 

She bristles at him, but he only laughs at her, dry and humourless. 

“You do,” he murmurs wonderingly. 

“Actually, I _don’t_ ,” Rey replies in an angry whisper. “It was Rose who started it. I was just finishing it.”

“But you won’t finish it. There is no _finishing_ anything. Not with them.” Finn shakes his head with vague disgust and leans away from her to fold his hands in his lap. 

_Them,_ she silently notes. _He said them. Not us._

Rey is taken aback by the tired quality to his tone and by the grey defeat in his mind. Yes - defeat is grey and isn’t that fitting? Lifeless and dull, an apathetic spectator to the eternal duel of fates between black and white. Finn is filled with it, yet she does not let his resignation taint her. 

“We’ll see,” is all that she replies with and if Finn looks taken aback, she ignores him. 

Then, there is a commotion at the front of the room that takes all of her attention. 

Rey cranes her head to look at the double-set doors just in time to watch as the world’s smallest human being - or what very much appears to be a human - hobbles into the room. The tiny person wears glasses that magnify their eyes to look like the size of oranges, and a tight-fitted cap on their head, a green tunic and a black vest. She then realizes that this tiny person is a woman and once her sharpened vampire senses tell her that yes - this woman is mortal and alive - she watches with confusion and alarm as the others simply _ignore_ her as she makes her way through the room. Her neck bears no scars from bite marks, and though her face is heavily wrinkled, the woman is remarkably unblemished. 

_Are you the one who made my dress? Are you the one who cleans this house, while we all rest?_ Rey ponders, not bothering to hide her mystified wonder as the small woman comes to a stop before Kylo. 

“They are ready,” the woman says to him and though she is of slight stature, the voice that issues from her mouth is strong and mysteriously beautiful. Deep and lilted, like a Queen’s and certainly not like a servant’s. The strange little woman looks the very portrait of apathy as she stands before Kylo - she expresses no fear of the creatures around her and her gaze meets his head-on. 

“Excellent, send them on in,” Kylo replies. He is grinning again, and as the woman walks away from him, he turns his gaze to Rey, as though he can feel her looking at him. 

The wink he tips her is positively devilish. 

“What are they talking about? What is ready?” Rey whispers urgently to Finn. 

His response is dull and impassive, and to her dread, that clouded and resigned grey is all she can see in his mind. “It is exactly what I told you before, Rey.”

From the hallway, she can hear voices; mournful weeping, terrified moans and fruitless praying, and then her hunger smells them out because Finn is right. 

The hunger always wins in the end. 

Heartbeats, as quick as a rabbit trapped in a snare; she can hear their _hearts_ before she even sees them and she knows then that this is a trap. This “celebration” is just another ploy for Kylo and the others to assert their dominance over her. 

Rey goes to stand, but then a cool, gentle hand closes over her wrist to stop her. She peers at Finn with muted betrayal and he nods his head in apathetic agreement. 

_Yes, I’ve betrayed you,_ his eyes tell her, _but that was the only way this was going to go._

Her gaze flickers to the double doors in time to see them all filing into the room. A dozen or so men and women; peasants, from what she can tell of their state of cleanliness and dress. They are all terrified; trembling, crying, whimpering and covered in their own filth. Praying to a God that Rey most certainly knows does not exist. She knows because she was one of them, not so long ago. 

She snatches her hand out of Finn’s grasp with an angry hiss. He does not look perturbed in the least; rather he aims a vague, sad smile at her that does not reach his eyes. 

“You know what happens if you resist.”

“Fuck you,” she says loudly and clearly. 

Tittering laughter resounds across the ballroom, making the humans cry out in fear and surprise. Only, when a shadow falls over Rey, she knows it was not the laughter that made them cry out, but the creature hovering over her now. She turns her head slowly, like her neck is operating on rusty springs, and there they are - those dark green eyes, glowing down at her like the light of hell. 

“Oh _lila_ ,” Kylo murmurs regretfully, only she knows it is all a sham. His grin is victorious and cunning. “Such filthy language. You're not house trained after all, are you?”

If it could, Rey’s blood would have run cold all over again. 

There is no time for her to fight back. No time to escape. In one instant, Kylo stands above her with his cold, dead grin, and in the next, his hand is in her hair and he has dragged her halfway across the room by the nape of her neck, like a mother lioness with her cub.

The humans scream and shriek as they watch him effortlessly yank her towards them, the chains on their ankles and hands rattling. They are too weak to run away - Kylo and the others have done something to them so that they cannot even struggle. 

And Rey’s stomach turns. 

The others are there then, cackling and screeching and reaching to grasp the humans as their screams of terror fill the room. However, her siblings’ ravenous red gazes don’t hold a candle to the look of furious gluttony on Kylo’s face. 

He is all Rey sees, even after he begins tearing into the nearest humans, even after he drags her unwilling body beneath the torrents of blood spilling from their throats, even as he caresses her hip with one hand as the other fists into her hair and prevents her from fleeing. The blood washes down her gullet in a crimson tide, but all she can see is green - deep, dark emerald - and when she tries not to swallow the blood Kylo is there, his large hand squeezing her jaw and his whispered words following her down a long, dark rabbit hole from which there is no escape. 

_The hunger always wins, lila._

As the blood churns in her veins and her hunger roars back into existence, for a long while, Rey is not present anymore.

Only the hunger remains. 

*

The world is a kaleidoscope of sound and light, bending and pulsing and reshaping itself into geometric patterns that Rey can no more distinguish than the varied lines of the floor’s grouting. 

The stone floor is cool beneath her feet, for her blood is now _warm_. Though she has absolutely no awareness of doing so, she sings _Frere Jacques_ under her breath in an artless and incoherent mumble, her hands scrabbling against the wall as she struggles to stay on her feet. 

Blood drips from her chin, down the darling apple of her cheeks, and into a scarlet pool on her breastbone and dress. Sticky, warm, and vital - oozing with life and scarlet oxygen, at once only borrowed and at once wholly consuming. Her ears ring with shrill death cries and on her face, chest, and arms, defensive scratch marks quickly fade away, though she can still feel fingernails deep in her skin long after the wounds have healed. 

Rey does not see where she goes; she blindly presses herself against the wall and uses her hands to pull herself forward, like she is holding a rope from which she is lugging herself across an endless ocean. Candlelight is no longer soft and glowing, but reaching her in pentacles, in octagons and hexagons. She feels that if she lets go of the wall, she will fall onto the floor, there to be sucked within the stone and tile, and become a part of the foundations of the earth. 

Screams echo down the corridor of those still left alive and though they are shrill and distorted through the bloodlust circulating in her deadened veins, she winces away from the sound as though she was the one who caused it.

Those still alive in that cursed ballroom will not remain that way for much longer. 

She had not wanted to do it. She had not wanted to take the blood, but _he_ made her. This part she keeps repeating like a comforting mantra in her mind. _Shedidnotwantitpleasegodno._

Nothing really makes the guilt go away. It lingers, like the warmth that was not hers to take, furrowing deep in her guts. 

When Rey finds herself in a room she has never been to before, she does not feel surprised, or much of anything. There is only that pulsating shock coating her limbs and eyeballs, slowing her enough that she does not tear around the Manor as she normally would in a state of fine rage.

Instead, she is torpid with remorse and overstuffed with blood. This is the most she has consumed since she was turned, though she refuses to admit in her mind that it was _her_ consuming anything. 

Kylo consumed it all, even if her mouth was the vessel. All he wanted was her suffering and he got his way, of course. It was not good enough to lock her in a room for two weeks. He had Finn trick her into going to the ballroom and there he made her do what she refused to in Lady Irmele’s apartment. 

After the sixth human he had held her under, like those men and women were nothing but faucets with which to force her to gorge herself on, she had somehow found the strength to pull away from him. By then, he was too busy gorging himself to pay much mind to where she had stumbled off to. 

And that is how Rey finds herself here, in what appears to a servant’s dining quarters. 

A small, familiar figure approaches her slowly. She sees glasses and a black vest and the vague part of her brain still capable of rational thought recognizes the tiny woman from before.

This is the woman who served them their meal, as it was. 

“Where… where am I?” 

Rey sounds intoxicated - at the very threshold of irreversible drunkenness. The floor tilts like she is on a boat at sea. She can hardly tell up from down anymore. Earlier, as she left the ballroom, she had been convinced for a time that she was somehow walking on the ceiling, the way she has seen her siblings do. But when she had closed her eyes and opened them again, she was standing on the floor. 

“I warned him not to overdo it,” the woman says in her crisp, queenly voice. She is just as calm and mild-mannered as she had been earlier. “I was against this immersion so soon - I want you to know that. But he is a stubborn brute, like all the Skywalkers before him… And, alas, he is also quite committed to your protection. One day, you’ll understand.”

“Pro... _pro_ … _protection_?” 

Rey does not have her wits enough to sound as indignant as she feels. Although she is in no state to process any emotions other than revulsion and self-loathing, she understands that this woman is speaking of Kylo.

She does not know whether to laugh, or spit in her face.

From the arch of the woman’s eyebrow, Rey knows that she has gleaned her dilemna. 

“As I said,” the woman replies with a benevolent smile, “one day, you will understand. But that is not today.”

Rey squints her eyes at her, then shuffles away from the wall, only to collapse on the stone floor just as she feared she would. Her hair fans around her head and her eyes are practically _burning_ amber. She feels simultaneously more alive than she has ever felt - including in her human life - and yet at the same time, she feels like nothing at all. Like a speck of dirt on someone else’s boot. 

The woman peers down at her, blotting out the candlelight in the room. She leans closer than is probably safe to inspect the blood all over her dress, but Rey makes no move to attack her. She can barely lift her arms, no less think of feeding on another person. 

The woman does not seem overly concerned for her own safety, anyway. She simply sniffs and returns to her full height, as little as that is. 

“I’m going to have to replace that dress. Pity, it was so beautiful. I knew the blue would suit you.”

Things are slowly clicking together through the sludge in her mind. The dress - the dress that she was given on her first night here. The dress that mysteriously fit her so well, even though she had only just arrived to the Manor. And the hot bath, the clean house… It is as she theorized when she first spotted the woman earlier tonight. 

“Who...mmm… re’ you?” Rey slurs at her. 

“Maz Kanata. You can call me Maz, though. That is what the others call me.” Maz Kanata is tilting her head at her like she is measuring her for a potential mental breakdown. 

Rey supposes it is not out of the realm of possibility and attempts to pull herself into a sitting position only for the room to swim in a dizzying arc. Then, she decides to curl in on herself like a dying spider rather than attempting to move again. 

The woman speaks again and she blinks up at her owlishly. “You are Rey. Or _lila,_ as Ben is fond of calling you.”

She mulls this over for what is likely too much time. Her sluggish brain cannot comprehend any information - not with the content feeling in the pit of her stomach because she is full, finally and blessedly full _\- but_ she could probably consume _more._ Yes, consume so much more that the red fogging her vision will take over entirely and she will no longer have to worry over such mortal scruples as guilt and contrition. Those are for the weak… she just needs to feed more… she just _needs_...

“Ben? Who is… d’ yo-ou mean Kylo?” 

Maz does not answer. 

The world is slowly returning to her, though she feels rather like she is surfacing through the depths of a deep lake. Like her thoughts are trying to trundle their way through syrup. 

Sleep might be nice too, she thinks to herself. Or more blood. Yes, more blood would be... 

“You’re going to want more,” Maz says as though reading her thoughts. The small woman nods sagely, even when she narrows her eyes and twists away from her on the floor. “It is best that you do not. You are too young to gorge yourself the way he and the others do. If you have more, the red haze will take you, dear child, and then you will sleep for centuries. If not forever. You ought to get back to the others. He will keep an eye on you, even if you -”

“ _I hate him_!”

Rey’s vehemence is sudden, the words hissed and guttural. She is suddenly on her feet but she has to lean on… a counter? Are they in one of the kitchens now? When did that happen?

Maz smiles at her, but for once the look is not loaded with derision as she is so used to from the others. There is a sadness to that look, even if it is as vague as an Arctic moon. 

“I suppose you will for some time.” 

Rey backs out of the room, her eyes widening as she takes in the walls. They are expanding and retracting - they are _breathing_ at her. She knows this with the same conviction those do who have overdosed on psychedelic drugs. Under her breath, she starts to sing again, as though this act will save her from the insanity looming over her at every turn. 

Maz does not follow her.

She stumbles back out into the corridor and does not realize she is following a hazy path back to the ballroom. She just wants to sleep. She just wants this nightmare to be over. 

The screams coming from the ballroom have ended, but now there are new sounds. Hazy moans and beastly growls; wet slapping, and moist suckling that her blood-raged mind cannot comprehend, no less trace. 

In the span of the last twenty seconds, she has become convinced that the walls are not only breathing but that they are _speaking_ to her as well. Whispering things she cannot quite understand. 

_...the child is not a child is not a child is not…_

“Stop,” Rey mumbles. She takes a jumbled step into the wall and bounces off of it without realizing it. “Please stop… please…”

Then, she comes upon the ballroom. 

Rey does not take in the bodies on the floor - her confused and terrified gaze is far too preoccupied with the riving forms moving in heady tandem all over the room; on the walls, the ceiling, in the pools of blood on the floor and on the crimson-stained furniture. 

Her _siblings_ are all naked and… 

She knows what she is seeing before her mind can fully comprehend it. She knows it in her _guts_ , deep in her _guts,_ because although she is horrified and repulsed, she also feels what they feel. The blood never lies. 

The first thing Rey registers seeing is Bazine. 

Her vampiric sister is lying completely naked on the chaise lounge that once belonged to the late Lady Irmele. Her black hair is pooled around her head, her legs are spread and she is playing with her breasts, much to Rey’s astonishment. Her eyes are closed in rapture and she is speaking rapidly in a language she does not understand. Romanian - she suddenly knows it is Romanian but she does not even attempt to decipher the words. 

Between Bazine’s legs, Kaydel’s head bobs up and down. There are wet sucking sounds emanating from where her mouth is pressed against Bazine’s sex, but to Rey’s relief ( _yes, I am relieved. Right?_ ) she cannot see much because Bazine’s legs are in the way. Kaydel is propped up on her hands and knees and behind her…

Rey blinks and tries to remember where it was she was trying to go. She should not be here, no matter what that strange little woman told her. She should not be here, no, she should go… However, her mind comes away utterly blank on a destination that is not here. She is frozen in place, like a sculpture made of bone and blood. 

Crouched over Kaydel, Mitaka steadily pounds his hips into her behind. The sound their skin makes on impact is wet, repetitious. 

Rey is vaguely alarmed to feel herself _reacting_ to this sight, no matter how much she is internally screaming at herself to move, to _fucking leave right now_. And still, she cannot seem to move her limbs. She watches with wide eyes as Kaydel keeps licking at Bazine, curling her fingers inside her to the woman’s moaning pleasure. 

Her gaze travels away from the trio, almost against her will. 

On the wall high above them, two figures are riving together. She has to blink twice before she realizes that - yes, she is seeing things properly.

Jango and Hux are in a passionate embrace, their bodies straining together. Hux’s legs are wrapped around Jango’s thick torso. They are _biting_ each other, feeding on each other’s throats, snarling and groaning and panting together, while Jango twists his hips and buries himself into Hux’s…

“Oh my god,” Rey murmurs so faintly, the words have no substance at all. She did not know that they could bite _each other_. She did not know any of these lurid things until this very moment, as she watches the two men groan and buck their hips together. Her hand comes up to steal itself around her throat, but still, she cannot move or look away. 

There is movement out of the corner of her eye. And she looks up. 

At first, Rey cannot understand what she is seeing. They are on the ceiling, but their hair is not hanging down at the command of gravity. It is like an optical illusion and her eyes hurt just trying to rationalize it. But as soon as she sees what exactly is happening up there, she is finally able to move, just a little. 

She backs away, her bare feet sliding in puddles of blood. She nearly slips, only to save herself by grasping onto a side table for support. Her gaze is glued to the ceiling and the three moving forms there. 

Finn is on his knees. Two hands are tangled in the dark curls of his hair. One hand is large, like a wolf’s paw, and the other is small and shapely. Rey heaves a needless breath as her eyes catch on what Finn is doing. His mouth is strained around a large and thick cock, and he is bobbing his head so fast, his face is almost a blur. She does not know how he doesn’t choke and it will not be until much later that she will remember that vampires do not need to breathe, so that activity… would come quite easily to their kind. 

Finn’s mind is grey again - Rey can sense it - but there are pink and red hues in there as well. He enjoys what he is doing, even if a part of him is disgusted with himself as well. 

Standing above him, Kylo and Rose are engaged in a passionate kiss. She can see the curve of Kylo’s buttocks, can see the large pads of his chest and the defined ridges of his abdomen. His arms and legs are thick with muscle. Rose is naked just like Kylo, but Rey cannot see as much of her with the way she is pressed against him. The pair of them growl and moan together, their sounds tangled up in each other’s mouths, as their hands interlock in Finn’s hair and press his mouth further along Kylo’s length. 

Fleeting, like a shadow in the night, Rey begins to recognize a foul emotion rising up within her. She has felt this before. From when she and Kylo were at Lady Irmele’s apartments - when the old woman was kissing a path across his cheek and jaw. But what she experiences now, watching Finn and Rose with Kylo, is not the same. A fleeting, searing heat travels up her stomach and into her chest. 

Into her fucking _teeth_. 

That small, tiny part of her - that flare of burning, blistering heat - would quite like to fly up there right now and tear Rose and Finn off of Kylo. Perhaps slam their heads together until brain matter flies everywhere. That small, _tiny_ feeling that she will not dare admit to herself is jealousy burns like embers; however, it has also become interlocked with another burgeoning sensation that she absolutely does not want to be experiencing right now.

Recognition _._

 _That_ unwanted feeling grows hotter, stronger, and she is more terrified than fascinated to discover her undergarments have become moist. 

Above her, Kylo begins bucking his hips into Finn’s mouth, his chest and abs straining with the effort. His fingers squeeze into Finn’s hair and he kisses with Rose become headier, more passionate than ever, as though he is on the crux of something great and wild. Something that is completely unknowable to Rey who has as much sexual experience as a tea cosy. 

Kylo makes a harsh, pleasured sound that she can just make out from below them. In response, she makes a small sound of her own that she would never be able to replicate if commanded to. Deep in her lower abdomen, that warm, tingly feeling sinks into a place that she has barely acknowledged since hitting puberty and that she has eagerly ignored since her turning. 

Suddenly, Kylo tears away from Rose’s mouth and forces her on her knees next to Finn, where the two share his cock with such fevered passion, Rey cannot help but blush. The warm blood in her veins allows for such dainty reactions, yet when Kylo drops his head back in apparent delectation, her blush turns positively crimson. 

Their eyes meet from across the span of the room between them. 

The feeling that shoots through her is electric. Torrid. She stares up at him with her lips parted in shock and her cheeks stained red. And Kylo - he makes a broken sound, not quite a growl but something low and guttural. It is a _needful_ sound, like he might be imagining that it is _Rey_ up there with him instead of the others.

That stirring, warm feeling _curls_ into a lingering, pleasant tingle in her womanly parts. She hears him take a deep, gasping breath - and she _knows_ he is smelling her again. That he _knows_ the reaction she is having to him and to all of this. His eyes have become so dark now, they’re black and yet somehow, they continue to glow at her like dead stars. 

“Join us, _lila,_ ” Kylo rasps at her from the ceiling. His lips curve in a blissed-out grin, but there in his eyes, she can _see_ and _feel_ an endless sea of dusky pink lust - for _her_. 

There is a moment she will later pretend does not exist when against all reason, she sways closer to him. That, for the smallest instant, her feet begin to lift off from the floor…

_What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?_

This voice in her mind - the voice of her sanity - finally brings Rey back to the present. This is all it takes for her to spin on her heels and flee from the room.

She can hear Kylo’s booming laughter, filling up the space in which she vacates. She refuses to look back and does not stop running until she has reached her bedroom and barricaded the door. 

In her darkest of hearts, she is terrified that if she had paused, for even a second, she might have accepted his invitation.


	10. The Great Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She takes in surroundings without really seeing them; somewhere in this room is something far more valuable. Something that beats and calls to her. Her hand is reaching out before her brain commands it to and then the bed flies across the room and crashes into the far wall. 
> 
> And when she takes in the huddled form on the floor, everything just stops. 
> 
> Rey, together with her vampiric family, goes on an important hunt, but Rey makes a startling discovery that might prove detrimental to her plans of escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! 
> 
> A LOT happening in this chapter. Some subtle plot points that will come up later in the story, a very important connection Rey makes between herself and Kylo, and the intro of a new (main?) character. ;)
> 
> Warnings: There is brief suicidal ideation in this chapter, graphic violence and gore, and some fridge horror as well. 
> 
> Only one more chapter to go until Part One is complete. :D Seriously cannot stop writing this one, lol.
> 
> Image One: holepsitumbler  
> Image Two: EB Leung

There is only one thing on Rey’s mind as the weeks turn into months. 

She has to escape. She _must_. 

With Finn, she thought she found someone she could tentatively trust, someone who is like her and does not relish in killing humans. She had of course known not to _fully_ trust him, but there had been a glimmer of hope she could not suppress. A glimmer of humanity still left in him…

But Finn is either too fearful or too indifferent to be of any help to her. 

The others are all out of the question of course. Bazine and Kaydel barely have two brain cells put together and whatever intelligence they do possess is always and to great lengths put towards malignance. Mitaka is outright malicious and Jango is distant and menacing. Hux and Rose are vicious and cunning - well and truly Kylo's lapdogs. At the earliest opportunity, Rose would rather tie Rey up and leave her to roast to death in the sun rather than lift a finger to help her. 

The feeling is quite mutual. 

Which leaves Rey with her absentee Maker. There has been no word of Luke in weeks, no whisper of his whereabouts and seemingly no concern for him from any of the others. But even when he is around, he is hardly a buffer. 

The only silver lining (and she has to try really hard to even see that) is that Kylo has been suspiciously quiet since the night in the ballroom. He has not visited her room, has not made her feed on humans with him - has hardly spoken a word to her since. In fact, she has barely seen any of them at all and while she is more than happy to keep things that way, she knows better than to not be suspicious. 

When she awakens in her coffin and tentatively steps out of her bedroom, there is a small goblet of deer’s blood waiting for her outside her door. Every night, since the ballroom. 

This might be the closest thing to an apology she will ever get from Finn. 

She drinks it because she has no other choice. It is that, starve, or go on a hunt and she certainly will not be willingly putting herself in her siblings’ company if she can help it. Either way, she has not forgiven Finn or spoken two words to him ever since that horrendous night. In fact, she is trying to forget it ever happened - the blood, the screams, the strange red haze she descended into… and what she saw afterwards. That most of all. Even at the mere thought of it, she can see them all in her mind’s eye like some terrible slideshow. She can hear the sounds, can see _his_ eyes bearing down upon her, and then she feels… 

This is why she does not dwell on that night. That _feeling_ is repulsive to her and utterly frustrating because she has absolutely no control over it.

So she forgets about it and forgets some more, in the hopes that those memories will fade away into nothingness, or at least lose their potency over time. 

*

Like every other night, Rey tiptoes out of her room, picks up the goblet Finn has left for her and listens to the house. She does not move a muscle when she does this; she simply waits until she hears everyone else moving around the Manor and then when they inevitably leave, she makes her way upstairs. She recently discovered an abandoned bedroom on the third floor, tucked away from the rest of the house. She goes there almost every night just to think and get away from the others. 

Mostly, though, she hides up there to try to come up with a plan. 

Water stains have left the wallpaper in this room curled and discoloured. The ceiling is bowing in some places from water damage and the floors are warped. She does not mind, not if it means she will be left alone.

Her feet barely touch the floor as she makes her way across the room, to where she opens the window and seats herself so she can see the moon and stars. She managed to scrub some of the blood from her dress, so at the very least it does not stick to her skin anymore, but it is still badly stained. She presses a hand against the fabric and winces, thinking about that night all over again. 

And this thinking leads her to the few tentative plans she has come up with. 

Her first option is to burn the Manor to the ground. She would be risking her own life in doing so, but if that is the way she is to die, she can think of nothing more fitting than taking them all down with her. But… She does not want it to come to that. Her existence here has been miserable at best but she is not at the point of taking her own life. She does not believe in god or religion anymore, but she sometimes wonders if Luke and the others stole her soul when they took her life and gave her this new, dark one. If they robbed her chance of entering heaven. If so, she does not want to think might await her on death’s door. 

So that leaves out burning down the Manor. At least for now. 

She thinks about running away. It is a cowardly thought even if it holds a certain lure. She would not have to kill any of them or risk her own life. She would simply flee into the night, right after they leave to go on one of their hunts. Disappear into the docks at the south of France and fade away. Go somewhere warm and beautiful, like Italy or Greece. Or even farther away than that. 

The problem with this plan is that the others seem to possess some way of tracking her. She does not know how they do it - if it is a part of the dark gift, or if because she is a Skywalker - but whatever the reason, they have some sort of connection to her that she is not aware of. She will not be able to simply run away from them - at least, not until she figures out how they find her so easily. 

Perhaps, she can find a way to sabotage their coffins or the coverings on their windows. If she found a way to let sunlight into their rooms, then maybe - 

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

Rey nearly falls out of the window and down to the courtyard below. The fall would not hurt her, but her hands shoot to the windowpane to prevent her tumble anyway. She has not figured out how to fly yet and she would rather not go outside in case the others are around. 

Maz stands in the doorway. Her hands are in her pockets and she examines the room in her calm, casual manor despite the openly distrustful look Rey is aiming her way. 

After ensuring that she is in no danger of falling, Rey leans against the window frame and narrows her eyes at the tiny woman. 

“What do you want?”

“Luke sent me.”

She rears back in shock and almost loses her grip on her goblet. It is empty anyway; when one has to survive on deer’s blood, the hunger tends to make things such as portioning obsolete. 

“He’s back?”

“Yes.”

Rey pushes herself to her feet and is halfway across the room before Maz speaks again. “The others have returned as well. They’re with him downstairs. I just thought you should know.”

Again, she aims Maz with a wary glare, but she cannot be blamed for that. The last time she saw this woman, she had served up a bunch of men and women like they were nothing but pigs up for slaughter and then proceeded to defend Kylo’s actions.

Though the details of that conversation are decidedly hazy. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Maz appraises her with her typical nonchalance, yet this time there is an avidness to her features that makes her feel like she knows far more than how to sew dresses and serve a pack of vampires their dinner. There is an ancient quality to the fine wrinkles around her eyes and to the soft knowing that greets her. 

“They will find you, Rey. No matter where you go, they will find you.” 

She goes rigid, but this does not perturb the tiny woman in the least. She half turns away from her to walk away but pauses to murmur four more words to her. 

“He will find you.”

After Maz disappears down the corridor, she takes a moment to collect herself before heading downstairs. She thinks over what Maz has told her, tripping over those four words over and over again before she stumbles upon what she might think is the answer to at least one puzzle. 

“It’s him,” Rey says to the empty room. 

That night, _that night_ when he grabbed her and flew them up into the sky, when he tore into her mind and…

“It’s _him_ ,” she repeats to herself. She is almost smiling, but she knows better than to get ahead of herself. Still, she cannot help but feel some small measure of excitement at her discovery and perhaps… 

Perhaps even hope. 

*

No one tells Rey where they are going, but that is not really out of the norm. She is treated, at best, like a simple-minded and ill-tempered child who needs to be minded every second of the night lest she fall and hurt her pretty little head. 

Tonight, she does not care in the slightest what they think of her. She does not comment when Bazine makes one of her simpering little remarks. She does not return Rose's dirty looks in kind, does not swat away Jango when he pulls at her hair, and she pointedly avoids making any eye contact with Finn, who keeps throwing guilty little side glances at her. 

Together, they walk down a winding dirt road. They first flew and then landed somewhere remote, deep in the countryside of France. Kaydel had taken it upon herself to fly Rey out and she had been made to endure endless taunting from her, until they landed. Luke has taken the lead with Kylo at his side. 

Rey is grateful not to have either of their attention on her tonight. 

Which gives her some more time to ponder over her situation. If it really is only Kylo who can track her, then he is the one she needs to kill. She will just need to be alone with him, away from the others… and to strike when he least expects it. Whatever they make her do in the interim - if they decide to make her feed on humans again, then… She might have to go along with it. Just for a little while, just until she can gain enough trust that they think she is becoming one of them. 

The prospect of feeding on humans, the prospect of purposefully trying to be _alone_ with Kylo terrifies her. There are many reasons for this - some of which she will not dare admit to herself - yet she knows if she is to escape them, this might be her best chance. She will never be able to successfully kill all of them… but Kylo? The most powerful of all her siblings? The creature she is secretly most terrified of?

It’s risky. It’s suicidal. But it’s the best plan she’s got. 

_What if that was not what Maz meant? What if she is tricking you? What if the others instructed her to tell you that and you’re just walking face-first into another trap?_

Possible. All very possible. 

She does not know Maz, or why she remains loyal to these monsters when she herself is human. There are many things she does not know... But her instincts tell her that even if what Maz insinuated was part of some elaborate scheme, that make it untrue. She has felt a lingering, albeit unwanted, connection with Kylo - she has felt it ever since the night he forced himself into her mind. 

Which leads her to another troubling conclusion. 

If she is to successfully assassinate him, then she will have to be careful to guard her thoughts. If he senses her plan, she does not even want to contemplate what he will do to her. Best to put it out of her mind entirely… she just has to lock the thought away, like she does with her anger now. Lock it away, deep in her mind, where he cannot find it. 

A cold hand grabs her arm and she realizes that she’s so deep in thought that she did not notice that they had stopped. She looks up to find that Finn is the one who stopped her and that the others have begun to split up. He pulls her into the tall grass next to the road and though she attempts to pull her arm away, he holds on tight. 

“Be angry with me later. Keep up and stick close to me,” Finn whispers to her. All she can see of him is his glowing red eyes and she knows that wherever they’ve come to, it is not just for a leisurely stroll in the countryside. 

“Are you my babysitter tonight?” But her anger is vague next to the thrumming tension she can feel radiating off him and the others. 

“Yes,” he replies simply. He tugs her closer until she is unwillingly pressed against his side. “Quiet now, Rey. Our Maker will be watching you tonight.”

“Is this…?” she trails off, eyeing their surroundings anxiously. With a grimace, she leans closer to Finn to breathe out, “Is this a hunt?”

“Indeed,” is all he replies with before he holds a finger to his lips and she finally subsides. 

This is it. Tonight is her chance to prove that she can be like them. That she can kill. She just has to… get through this night. She just has to survive. She does not want to do it, she in fact feels sick to her stomach at the thought of killing, but this is the only way. Like with Irmele and those poor people Kylo made her drain. 

_The only way, the only way, the only way_. 

Together, Rey and the others pick their way through the tall grass. She can smell summer’s perfume; honeysuckle and sweet grass. And when she overhears men calling to one another in rough French, when she begins to hear the steady thrum of their hearts, she wills away her guilt and fear to give the reins to her hunger for once. 

And she tells herself, over and over, that this is the only way. 

*

It is a logging colony they ambush. Or, at least, this is what Rey believes at the time. 

The New World has only recently been discovered, and with it, all the pilfering of untouched nature and all her bountiful resources. The logging colonies in France are dying out and this is one of the few left in the country. From what Rey can sense, there are over fifty men inside the camp. 

She knows they will all be dead before the sun rises. 

Rey remains with Finn and they quickly lose sight of the others as they move deeper into the fields, towards the back of the camp where there are fewer men roaming about. The others are so quiet that she can hardly hear them anymore; she only catches sight of their glowing red eyes here and there, through the tall, swaying grass. 

But she can sense _one_ of them out there. The one she fears the most. It is like the party with Irmele all over again. In one moment she is stumbling through the grass with Finn leading the way, and in the next, she is no longer in her own body anymore. 

Teeming crimson and ebbing blackness - hunger, murder, lust, and glory. A thirst for more than just blood - for battle, for chaos. He wants these humans to fight back - he _craves_ it after so many unsatisfactory hunts, after so much easy and puling prey. He is of the darkness, melding with the shadows and wind. Stalking amongst the overgrown wildflowers and catching thistles, stalking like a wolf to a sheep’s pen. His footsteps are as plodding and graceless as ever - yet every place where his feet strike the ground is a sure target. The earth trembles beneath his girth. His long jacket parts around powerful thighs with each of his steps, his black boots shining in the weak moonlight. The wind seems to curl and sigh through the black locks of his hair, only to be trapped there in that tangled wildness.

Trapped like she is now, ensnared in his mind. 

Rey lags behind Finn, her gaze growing distant and dreamy. The longer she focuses on Kylo, the more lost she becomes in his unknowable mind. Dark currents fill the space between them, and although his attention is fixed on their prey, she knows the exact second he senses her in his head - tracking him and watching for him in the same way he now is watching for her. 

Kylo pauses by a tree and turns back to look at her. She knows this because she can suddenly see a pair of green eyes glowing at her from under the awning of a willow tree. The branches sway like tentacles, his eyes flickering in and out of her perception. 

_The island, the island, and the boat and the island,_ she chants in her head. Just in case he is listening, just in case he is suspicious. She is angry with herself for getting so lost in his mind in the first place, but this is the first time she has done so on purpose. She cannot be faulted for her distraction. 

She only hopes he does not dig too deep in her mind in retaliation. 

After a few seconds go by, Kylo’s eyes disappear from view and she feels him turn his regard back to the logging colony.

Rey withdraws from his mind as well and makes herself focus on where she is walking so that she does not make any noise. Luke is out there too, and if Finn was right - and she’s sure he is - this will no doubt be a test of her trustworthiness. 

Finn does not beckon her, so much as hiss on the wind. She hastens after him. She just has to take things one moment at a time. That is the best way. To get through it all, to survive them. To survive Kylo. 

After what seems like an eternity, Rey and Finn emerge from the tall grass to find themselves behind a small shed. Her dress whispers over dirt and glossy frost, their footsteps light and mincing. And as they enter the boundaries of the village as guileless and virulent darklings, Rey changes. 

She adapts, transforms and truly and utterly becomes what she is meant to be.

*

She loses Finn somewhere near the beginning. Somewhere in the glow of embers and blood, she sees his face in passing; how his top lip, so much fuller than the bottom, trembles and pulls back in a ravenous snarl. But soon after, she loses sight of him entirely and maybe that’s a good thing.

She does not want to know how much of a hypocrite she has become. 

There is blood, there is sinew, there is precious muscle, veins, organs, and bone. There is marrow cracking darkly in the night. There are rivers, there are lakes, and under the moon’s pall, they are _black, black, blackest._ Screams rent the air; purrs, snarls, screeches, moans, and cackling madness. Some of it may even emanate from Rey herself - she is so far gone, she cannot know for certain. 

Warmth oozes through her veins, torpid, slick, and lulling. 

She does not stop for anything or anyone. She must keep going, she must prove herself the savage they want her to be. Afterwards, she can self-flagellate over her cowardice as much as she likes. Afterwards, she can turn over a new leaf and forget this grim chapter of her non-life.

These are the lies Rey tells herself, but they have become so convincing, so enticing with the thrill of warm blood rushing through her, that she begins to believe. 

Everything of this night is broken into still frames; a man’s face etched in terror, blood squirting across a workbench, an axe flying through the air towards her only for her to bat it away an elephant would to a fly, Hux soaring past her through the night sky and carrying a man begging for his life. She sees Jango and Rose tearing a man in half and she briefly catches Luke holding a man up in the air by his throat. The man is shouting at her Maker in defiance, screaming a phrase that she dimly recognizes as Latin, over and over until Luke silences him forever. 

_Dum vivunt in lucem._

Rey does not pause to wonder what it means and merely carries on to inflict her own carnage. 

What she sees perhaps more than any of the others are those green eyes, flickering through the darkness, following her from one torrent of blood to the next. 

She does not come to - not with how much she has fed - but some glimmer of clarity steals over her because suddenly she is not outside anymore but in a dark room. The door is open behind her, spilling firelight into what appears to be a small bedroom. She takes in a bed and a moldy carpet without really seeing it; somewhere in this room is something far more valuable. Something that _beats_ and _calls_ to her. Her hand is reaching out before her brain commands it to and then the bed flies across the room and crashes into the far wall. 

And when she takes in the huddled form on the floor, everything stops. 

Her chest is heaving with false breaths, and she notices then how sticky her skin is, how coated her entire body is in crimson and gore. Her hair is soaked with it, her fingernails blackened and crusted over. Disgust fills her to the brim and she begins to sober up a little. The hunger is fading away.

A pair of terrified blue eyes peer up at her from a face that looks like it could belong to a doll. Thick, blonde curls frame porcelain skin and a pair of pretty bow-lips the colour of roses tremble. The girl is perhaps eight years old, at the very oldest. The only thing marring her beauty - or perhaps adding to it, Rey cannot decide - is a deep scar that runs from her left temple to her chin. 

_A horse did that,_ Rey thinks in the quiet, dim part of her mind not consumed with remorse. _She was six and did not listen to her father when he told her not to go behind the horses, that they did not like that and that they would kick her. She learned the hard way that her papa was right._

“Please,” the little girl whispers in perfect French. “Please do not hurt me.”

Outside, Rey hears her brothers and sisters begin to call to one another. Laughter fills the air and she knows without checking that everyone else in this settlement is dead. That it has been a great hunt indeed, just as Luke promised. 

The little girl whimpers at the sounds coming from outside and withdraws to the corner of the room, attempting to make herself as small as possible.

Rey closes her eyes, but she does not find any respite. All she can see are her sisters’ faces; each one of them, as they had been when they were still alive. But it is Elise she sees most clearly of all. Elise, with her pretty blue eyes and pretty blonde hair. 

She knows what she is going to do; the only thing she was going to do the moment she walked into this room and found this little girl. 

Rey crosses the room and goes before the her. Before she can shriek her dismay, she covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head slowly, ensuring to capture the girl’s eyes so she understands that she must keep quiet. Surprisingly, the girl blinks back at her and while she is still clearly terrified, there is a glimmer of intelligence there.

Rey then peers over her shoulder and discovers that the doorway is still empty. No one knows where she is yet, or that this girl is still alive. And they never have to know, either. Turning back to the girl, she can see she is lucid enough that they might have a chance of this working. She lowers her hand from her mouth and raises a single finger to her lips to indicate to her to keep silent. 

“When I tell you to, you are going to run into the forest,” she murmurs to her urgently, “and you won’t stop until you can’t run anymore. You will make no noise, you will not stop - not even if you see something out there that makes you afraid.”

For a long moment, the girl only stares back at her, clearly petrified. Then to Rey’s relief, she nods her head in agreement. 

“Alright… stay here for a second.”

She gets up and goes back to the door. In the middle of what appears to be the settlement’s pavilion, she can see the others gathering around. Before she leaves the doorway, she hears Finn’s loud and strong voice, calling out in the night. Calling her name. 

“Shit.” 

She spins back to the girl and silently gestures for her to come to the door. In jerky motions, the girl rises to her feet and crosses the room to join her side. She is shaking from head to toe and clutching a teddy bear in her hands. 

Rey forces herself to look back outside. 

Rose and Bazine walk past one of the neighbouring houses, juggling something between the two of them. Unfortunately, the little girl sees what it is before Rey does, and she has just a split second to cover her mouth. The girl’s scream is punched out into Rey’s hand, but she succeeds in muffling most of the sound. 

Dripping blood on the ground and god knows what else, Rose and Bazine are tossing a severed head in the air like a ball. 

Rey grimaces. 

Once the two vampires disappear from sight, she checks left and right, before dragging the girl from the house. Her hand stays over the girl’s mouth, smearing blood all over her face, but she knows if they get caught the little girl will have far worse things to worry about other than some blood. They make it to the back of the house, where the forest looms nearby. By some miracle, none of the others is around. She can still hear them catcalling to one another and when Finn calls her name more clearly than the last time, she knows their luck is just about out. 

The girl is panting with fear, much like a dog scared of a thunderstorm, and something breaks inside Rey, just a little, she has just compared this child to a _dog._

“Look at me,” she says to her more harshly than she means to. The girl’s gaze snaps to hers and although she is plainly horrified, she maintains eye contact, which she takes as a good sign. “You have to run. Right now.”

“ _Oui_ ,” the girl replies shakily. 

“Don’t stop,” Rey instructs her firmly. 

“D-don’t stop,” the girl repeats. 

“Good. Now run, _mon cher_.”

The girl takes one last terrified glance at her and then takes off towards the long grass. After a moment, she disappears from view and Rey sags against the house, hoping that she makes it. That this time, _this_ little girl will escape where she could not. 

“ _Rey_!” 

Hissing through her teeth, she pushes off the house and starts walking back towards where she saw the others gathering together. It is not long before she encounters Finn, who examines her far too suspiciously for her liking. 

“Where were you?”

“Around,” Rey replies with just enough snark that she hopes she is convincing. She cannot make it seem like she enjoyed killing these people - not with how much she has been resisting them for all these months. She needs to be resigned, guilty, angry - but starting to appear accepting as well. 

What she does not admit to herself is that she feels all these things anyway. Some lies are just easier to tell to yourself than to anyone else. 

Finn looks her up and down and sniffs. 

“I’ll have to teach you how to feed more cleanly. You look like a butcher.”

Rey winces and looks away from him. 

Walking side by side, they join the others in the pavilion, where Luke is waiting for them. Everyone else is in a much cleaner state than Rey, though they are all covered in varying degrees of gore. Rose still has her severed head and she makes to throw it at her. 

Before she can react, though, Luke is suddenly two feet in front of Rose. His eyes are glowing yellow, like a vague threat, and without him saying a word, Rose bows her head submissively and drops the head on the ground. Luke stays that way for another moment, staring at Rose imperiously before he turns away from her to address the others. 

“Tonight was a great feast for our Clan.” His gaze sweeps across each and every one of them, including Rey.

She cannot be sure, but she feels as though he lingers on her longer than the others, examining the blood all over her and the state of her expression. She tries to look disturbed, but sheepish as well. Uncertain of her success, she does not have time to fidget too much when Luke glances away from her. 

“Let us return home and celebrate. The Council will be most pleased with the progress we have made in vanquishing the Elysium Chapter.”

Rey suddenly forgets to school her expression into a convincing lie when she stumbles over what he has just said to them. The Council? And what is the Elysium Chapter? She has no idea what he is talking about, but the others don’t seem confused at all. In fact, Mitaka grabs Jango’s hand and the two of them start doing some absurd parody of the Tango, while a few of the others laugh and cheer. 

She turns to Finn to ask him what The Council and Elysium Chapter are, but he is not at her side anymore. Hux has joined them and Finn drifts away to him as though in a trance, the two nuzzling their noses together in a way that immediately makes Rey blush and look anywhere else but at them. 

Then, Luke suddenly takes off to the sky, disappearing from view as the others soar off the ground and follow after their Maker. Rey stares after him, frowning a little, only for a slender arm to wind itself through hers. 

She tries to pull away, only to find Kaydel grinning at her. 

“Come along, _lila._ Let’s get home and get you cleaned up. Kylo will be _soooo_ proud. You look like a savage Viking queen.”

Rey barely registers these words and soon enough Kaydel has taken them both up in the air, where they fly with their brothers and sisters back to their macabre mansion. She thinks about the little girl and prays she had the good sense to keep running. 

As they pass over Paris, she realizes that Kylo was missing from their little gathering earlier. She looks around to the flying forms of the other vampires, but not once does she spot that pair of glowing green eyes that have been shadowing her all night. 

Kylo is nowhere to be found.


	11. The Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without sparing a glance to her siblings, or even to her Maker, Rey speaks only seven words. 
> 
> “I know what I have to do.”
> 
> Rey hatches a precarious plan of escape by embracing the very things she loathes the most; her own vampiric nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes Part One of this story. Big chapter ahead - lots of action and plot development. 
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Violence - just a forewarning, almost every chapter will have this tag on it and I think by Chapter 11, we know what is happening here. However, for the more gruesome scenes, I'll provide more detailed warnings (ex: feeding on animals, etc.). 
> 
> I am already into Part Two and updates will still come regularly, as with my other WIP. Cannot thank you lovely folks enough for the comments and kind words. Seriously keeps me going. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3
> 
> Image One: The Force Awakens, Disney  
> Image Two: Wolfroad on Deviant Art  
> Image Three: artist unknown

Kaydel and the others lead Rey to the last room she wants to visit right now - or ever really. 

The ballroom has been cleaned up since the last time and, if nothing else, she is grateful that she does not need to be visually reminded of what happened the last time she was here. The memories are more than enough. 

Candles are already lit around the room when Rey and the others walk in. The candelabra, all tacky gold and varnished, glows brightest of all above them. The heat of the flames does not quite reach her. Not even the scorch of fresh blood in her veins makes her feel whole, or totally present. Her mind is clouded with tired anxieties and a budding thorn of disquiet.

Did the little girl survive? Or was she just another casualty of the Skywalker Clan? Did Kylo find in her the forest and…?

She tries not to dwell on these things. The girl has been left to her own fate, for better or for worse. There is nothing more she can do for her. 

Luke sits at the head of the ballroom, in deep conversation with Rose and Hux. The others are dancing, singing and laughing, and for once, Rey cannot muster the energy to glare at their obnoxiousness. Even Finn has joined in the frivolities. Her hair is still drying from a well-needed wash and she alternates between picking at the fabric of her chair and peering across the room at her Maker.

There is a feeling she cannot quite shake, a sense of deep foreboding that will not go away no matter that she had a quick bath and changed out of yet another ruined gown. Maz already had another dress ready for her, in a deep shade of royal blue, which only added to her sense of dread. Who, exactly, is Maz and what is her relationship with these vampires? She must be more than just a seamstress to them. 

Whatever their relationship is, she cannot trust her. 

And that brings her back to the most troubling thought of all - where is Kylo? The last time he and the others went out on one of these great hunts, he had been here in the thick of things, egging on the celebrations and …all the other activities her siblings had partaken in. 

Now, he is nowhere to be found. 

With every minute that goes by, she grows more anxious. Not once has Luke so much as looked at her, let alone asked to speak with her. She thought with her first big hunt that he would want to offer criticism or at least tell her how he thought she performed. Her apprehension deepens as she keeps coming back to the same thing. 

Where is Kylo?

On the table next to her, a lone candle flickers, casting strange shadows along the walls. As the others celebrate in typical lunatic fashion, she gets lost staring at those stretching and weaving shadows, until she is almost certain she can hear whispering, low and almost too inaudible to detect. Once she can make out the words, she momentarily forgets about Luke and Kylo. 

_...the child is not a child is not a child is not…_

Her entire body tenses with shock. Without even knowing she has done so, her eyes glow in the preternatural candlelight. 

This was the same phrase she heard when she had taken too much blood last time. 

The words themselves do not seem threatening, yet somehow she feels as if there is warning to them, though she is damned if she knows what it means. It must be the blood, she surmises. Maz warned her that this could happen if she consumed too much.

And she had consumed _plenty_ tonight.

Rey draws herself out of this strange tangent and turns back to the room just in time to watch as the others suddenly roar and cheer in maddened delight. 

It does not take her long to figure out why. 

Entering into the ballroom like a pall of darkness absolute, his hair glossy and wild, and his eyes glowing green with feverish carnage, Kylo strides into view with all the graceless, lumbering gait that he usually possesses. Yet, no matter that his long, thick legs move as though navigating through murky terrain, he holds his shoulders back and his head high. 

Like a king. 

It is then, right before everything begins to happen, that Rey recalls the words she had spat at him, all those weeks and months ago. On that night he had taken her up into the sky and tore into her mind, where he found her precious island and all her shattered dreams from her mortal life. 

_Vandalirice._

She knows what that word means now. King of the Vandals - that had been him, once. Centuries ago, in time out of mind, he had been a king of hundreds, if not _thousands_ , who had all followed him into battle and to their glorious deaths. 

Kylo is every bit of that king now, here in this ostentatious ballroom and surrounded by his little heathens. He is imperious, scrutinizing, observant, clever - and _yes_ , handsome, in his own menacingly way. She can admit that to herself as she watches the way he effortlessly commands the room. She can even admit to the power she feels emanating from him. A power both great and old; ancient and noble. She loathes the creature, yet she is captivated by him all the same. 

And terrified, too, of course. She cannot forget that. 

Rose leaps upon Kylo to kiss him on the lips and he returns it shortly, only to drop her back on her feet. He looks around the room, his gaze passing over the others like they are not even there. 

Until he finds Rey. 

She feels locked into place, just like every other time his piercing gaze meets hers, but buried beneath her fear, she is amazed to discover that there exists a reserve of determination as well. Because there is a _knowingness_ that passes between them, right before he turns to Luke without saying a word. Like he knows all the ways he is going to break her and that she knows it too. 

The two men nod at each other and already, the room is starting to fall silent. 

And she _knows_. 

There is a reason Kylo took so much longer to get back to the Manor than they did and that reason, she can now sense, is out in the corridor, weeping and trembling with terror. 

_The girl,_ Rey realizes, but it feels less like a revelation and more like a confirmation of everything she already knows. _Of course, the girl is here. He found her, just like I feared he would, and he has brought her back with him. I failed. They know, theyknowtheyknowtheyknow._ The gambit is lost.

With a decisiveness that Rey does not remotely feel, she rises from her chair. 

One by one, the others go silent. 

Luke does not stand to dole out his punishment, or so much as show a single emotion beyond bland regard. Kylo straightens his shoulders and his hands clench into fists before relaxing. He returns his gaze to her, a faint smirk twisting his lips, crooked and smug. Tension fills the room as the others turn to look at her, most of them with dawning comprehension. She ignores the look of disappointment that briefly flits across Finn’s face and keeps her gaze locked on Kylo. 

The others are just spectators, after all. That is all they have ever been, from the very beginning. 

Rey is not remotely surprised when she notices a length of rope in his hands. The rope extends to the floor and out into the corridor, where she can hear pitiful sobbing quite clearly now. She looks from the rope and up to his hellish eyes without giving anything away. There is a pulse in her body and though it does not emanate from her heart, she now recognizes that sullen thrum is from her power. From her vampiric self. 

A low growl fills the air, but this time it comes from Luke. It is a wordless command to the others and just like the first night Rey had the misfortune of meeting these ghastly creatures, her siblings seem to dematerialize to the dim shadows of the ballroom, where all she can see of them are their glowing red eyes. The only ones who remain visible to her are Kylo, standing tall and proud in the center of the room, and Luke, who is serenely seated in his chair and presiding over them all like an impassive emperor. 

“Rey, my darling. Do you want to tell our Maker, or shall I?” Kylo says to her with a curved grin. He gives the rope a violent tug and the weeping in the hall turns into terrified shrieks. 

“I don’t think there is anything left to say.” 

His eyes flash at her in warning, but she remains steadfast. Unshakeable in her resignation. The ripples in her gown shine prettily in the light like sapphire and deepest ocean. 

“Oh, on the contrary, there is much to be said.” 

Laughter fills the room, at once loud and deafening. Rey bears it with quiet, seething grace. Only when Luke growls again does it end. She can feel her Maker looking at her, can feel the quiet and unrushed way he probes at her thoughts.

 _Careful,_ she thinks at herself. _You must tread carefully._

She pauses over her next words, she peers down at the floor with feigned sheepishness. Really, she is just thinking. Candlelight flickers in her peripheral but she does not dare look at the candles. Because suddenly, there is a plan now. An idea barely formed. 

_Kylo found the island in my mind. Maybe… maybe, if I am quick and clever, that is what I can leave him with. A false trail of crumbs._

“Really? You won’t tell everyone the truth?”

She shoots Kylo a glare and then looks away again, closing her eyes with what she hopes is a convincing display of misery and regret. 

“What is the point?” she says quietly. “You already know what happened.”

He grunts at her, his jaw shifting again. He is _thinking_ , she realizes. He is evaluating her, watching her for weakness and deception.

She must get this right this time. Everything depends on it. 

“You know what this means, Rey.” Kylo has the audacity to look regretful - to look _disappointed_ in her. 

The tension in the air rachets up, turning in on itself as a quilt pulled to the very end of endurance on a homicidal loom. Oh, she knows what this means. All the hours she spent sitting in the room upstairs, curled up on the window ledge, regarding the moon and stars, and trying to plan for a way out - they have been for nothing because her hand is being forced - here and now. Time has run out. There is some relief in that, knowing that the games can end before they have rightly begun. Knowing that this can be the end of everything, one way or another. 

Rey looks up from the floor and nods in acceptance. His dark gaze flits over her face one last time, searching for the lie, searching for everything he can take from her. But he will find no lie here. Not this time. 

He tugs on the rope again and when the little girl from the settlement stumbles into the room, her hair full of twigs and her eyes filled with the same terror Rey once saw in the lambs her father used to slaughter when he was still alive and she still had a family to call her own, she feels a mysterious sense of calm that she has not experienced in a very long time. 

Without sparing a glance to her siblings, or even to her Maker, Rey speaks only seven words. 

“I know what I have to do.”

*

“Come, _lila._ ”

And Rey finds that she does not really need to pretend - not anymore. 

It is like feigning to be asleep whenever her parents would come to wake her for her morning chores when she would let herself drift off just enough to convince almost herself that she was not awake. Only this is so much more visceral. Every nerve ending in her body is firing, her senses sharpened and honed in on her prey. She lets the hunger do the work for her because soon she is going to need to be strong and _fast_ for this to work at all. 

They cannot see her coming. 

The little girl, with her doll’s eyes and the long scar marring her otherwise flawless skin, she does not exist. Not in this moment, when the chips are falling down and she has so little to play. 

Rey crosses the room to Kylo, to where he has held out a hand for her. She glances at Luke to find him still seated across from them, watching her with his strange, flat yellow eyes. The others are practically salivating with eagerness. They want another show; they want to see how much Kylo will break her for her latest insubordination. 

They are going to be sorely disappointed. 

For the first time ever, she willingly takes his hand, their skin mutually warm from all the feeding they did earlier. She forces herself not to react to his touch and to the knowledge that they have both killed many people tonight, to take their gluttony in stride because this is the way it is now. This is the only way forward. 

Kylo smoothly brings her to his side and when he drapes an arm across her chest, caging against him, she does not react to that either. Her dull acceptance seems to surprise him at first, and then she feels him practically _purring_ behind her. Large fingers sweep her hair off her shoulder and then he rests his chin on the crook of her neck, his long nose leaning against her temple so he can scent her. 

“Isn’t this better?” he murmurs into her skin. “Don’t fight it, _lila_. Embrace your nature.”

Rey has two simultaneous reactions to his lips against her cheekbone - revulsion and want. Rather than resisting the latter, she lets the coil of conflicting emotions wash over her. She is not going to be a victim to herself - not anymore. Whatever impulses she has, whatever flitting needs and wants, she will let them come.

She is tired of calling her own bluff, especially with him. 

“I…” Rey trails off with just the right amount of hesitancy. 

The girl says something, her voice clogged with tears, but she ignores her. She does not look into her eyes because then she might falter. Then, it will all be over. 

“I know,” Kylo coos in that disingenuous tone she loathes so much. “I know it hurts. But this little stripling is nothing to you. She is food, like the lambs of your father’s quaint little farm.”

A pinprick of anger seeps through at the mention of her father and over the fact that he likely overheard her thoughts just now. But maybe that is alright. When he chuckles knowingly, she decides that she cannot be _too_ apathetic. She has to let some of her true self come through or he will detect the lie. Just as he has done every other time. 

“ _Please_!” the girl wails in French. “Please don’t hurt me! I beg you!”

“Hush,” Kylo growls from over Rey’s shoulder and the girl is suddenly silenced. He is pressing his will on her just enough not to be interrupted again, but not enough to take away the fear and misery she feels. He wants her to know what is coming because this will succeed in damaging Rey the most. 

She knows the game he plays, only now she is playing one of her own. 

“Now, my _lila_. I want you to look into our Maker’s eyes and tell him what you did. Then, we can begin to rectify this little mistake.”

Kylo presses a warm kiss to her throat just as his other hand snakes around her hip and to her stomach to press there. A dark feeling of excitement shoots through her at his touch, and again, she lets herself feel it. She knows he will sense it too and if she can distract him long enough…

Rey raises her eyes to Luke. She does not attempt to reassure herself of the next course of action, of how she might pull the wool over her Maker’s eyes as well - she simply says the words Kylo wants her to say. 

Says them with the newfound conviction within her. 

“I found the girl in one of the houses. She… She looks like my sister. I spared her where I did not any of the others because I could not bear to kill the likeness of her. I was weak.”

The others titter at her but she does not so much as glance in their direction. Luke only blinks back at her like a barn owl and waits for her to continue. 

“I failed you, Maker. And now…”

Kylo’s grasp tightens around her, his fingernails digging into her hip bones. She outwardly steadies herself, with just a hint of emotion tainting her words. 

“Now, I must do what I could not earlier.”

The girl wails before she has even finished speaking and Rey closes her eyes like she is in pain. Really, though, she needs a second to look away from Luke’s penetrating stare. He might know, now. He might have seen the lie. 

But then: 

“Very well, my daughter. Prove your worth.”

Rey’s eyes open just as Kylo slides his hands away and pushes her down to her knees on the floor, directly in front of the girl. 

The shadows seem to draw closer, though she wonders if that is just because the others are hovering nearby. She does not get a chance to see because Kylo towers over her and the frightened little girl, though whether it is to shield them or intimidate them, she cannot really know. Her gaze flits up to Luke one final time, where he gives her the smallest nod to proceed. 

Then, steeling herself for anything and everything, Rey finally gives the girl her full attention. 

She is openly weeping, her face red and covered in tears and snot. Her scar stands out in sharp relief, raised and puckered white. She is heaving for air, her entire body trembling with terror. Rey reaches out with a steady hand and grasps the girl’s shoulder.

At the same time, she does not quite glance at the candle closest to her, but she can make out the shape of it in the corner of her eye. It is triple tiered and the handle is made entirely from gold. The candles themselves are thick and wide, the flames tall and flickering. Pressing her other hand to the floor, she runs her fingers over the stiff carpet. The material is dry like tinder and covered in a fine layer of dust. Her fingernails make a dry, rasping sound against the tough fabric. 

“Please don’t,” the little girl whispers, imploring her with weak little whimpers. “Please don’t do this. You can let me go. I won’t tell anyone what happened. Please, _mademoiselle_.”

Rey meets her gaze head-on and does not attempt to use any of the glamouring tricks Kylo has pulled. She does not know if she is fully capable of that ability anyway, and she cannot afford to waste the energy. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Rey tells her gently. 

It is like a live wire within her - all the tension in the room seems to be transferring to her bones, to all her muscles and tendons. She knows what she is going to do, just like she did in the forest all those months ago. Before they stole everything she had and turned her into one of them. Before this life of eternal darkness. Everything is honed down to this moment, this advent before the storm. 

“You must be strong, just for a little longer.” 

Mocking laughter greets her words, but Rey does not break eye contact with her. The girl’s breath catches and perhaps she can see the intention in her eyes, or perhaps she can simply sense it. She stares up at her with fat teardrops leaking down her cheeks and that spark of intelligence she first saw in her is there now. Knowledge passes between them, quick and fleeting, and Rey prays she keeps her sensibilities about her. 

The candlelight flickers next to them, in an obscene parody of quiet and calm, and she knows the moment is _now._

“Go on, _lila_. No more stalling, we have -”

Kylo stops speaking the second before she reaches for the candle, as though he has just sensed the turn of her thoughts. 

But, by then, it is far too late. 

*

“ _RHYLEN!_ ” 

Years later, Rey can still hear the might of Luke’s voice in her ears, can still hear the syllables of her name like a war cry. 

But she does not let that stop her. 

Moving with all the newfound agility of her powers, Rey dodges of Kylo’s grasp and grabs the girl with her left hand. She makes a pitiful whimper, but her human eyes can no more see what is happening than if they could in the darkness - Rey is simply moving too quickly for the girl to track and that is probably for the best. 

With her nestled safely to her side, Rey grabs the candlestick, and before anyone can stop her, she swings around and bashes Kylo upside the head. She cannot measure the strength of her hit; she only knows it is hard enough to send the gigantic Vandal king crashing to the other side of the room before he can get another word out. She senses his surprise - that she was able to get the drop on him, that he was so utterly unprepared for her deception. This is the most she gets from his mind before she returns her attention to the others. 

They are all coming for her - even Finn. Red eyes glow and low hisses and shrieks fill the chaotic ballroom, but she does not falter. Her leap off the floor is not calculated, just a knee-jerk reaction in a plan she has barely thought out. Everything is in the moment, an improvisation with the aim of causing the most damage in the least amount of time. 

And she succeeds beautifully. 

Using her free hand to drop the candles to the floor, where they immediately light up the dry, dusty carpet, she flies out of the others’ reach to grasp the candelabra. She tears it out of the ceiling in a shower of plaster. When she lands on the floor again, with the screaming girl still clutched to her, Rey swings the chain of the candelabra in a wide arc. She uses her own forward motion to bring the chain down in a brutal curvature, effectively swatting all of her siblings away in one fell swoop. 

They crash into various pieces of furniture from the force of her strike, but she is already locked on to her next target and does not pause to see where they land.

Luke barely has time to dodge out of the way before she _hurls_ the candelabra at him - but it does not matter that it has missed him. Dozens of candles spill to the floor and suddenly a large roaring fire races from one side of the room to the other. The girl is still screaming, the sound muffled into Rey’s chest.

She pays her no mind. 

The carpet lights up just as quickly as she thought it would. Whoever cleans the Manor has long since neglected the carpet. The thick layer of dust provides the perfect kindling. Before Luke or her siblings can reach her, the carpet is ablaze in a fantastic rush of flames. The light and heat make her skin blister, only for it to reheal seconds later. The girl begins to tremble violently, likely from the heat, and Rey presses her face to the crook of her neck, blocking her vision from the terrifying sights in the ballroom. 

She can hear Mitaka roaring in pain and Rose screeching orders at the others, but they are cut off from Rey. Half the room is on fire and the flames are quickly spreading to all those lavish paintings, draperies, and pieces of furniture they have stolen from their victims over the centuries. 

She relishes in the destruction for exactly one second before she decides it is well enough time to leave. 

Rey spins to the door and wastes no time in fleeing from the room. The girl is cradled in her grasp, whimpering piteously with fear and shock. She makes soft, hushing sounds to her, but beyond that, she does not speak. She is far too focused on getting them outside - her siblings will not stay subdued for long. Seconds go by, but they feel eternal as she navigates them through the Manor.

Once they reach the main entrance, she tries to open the doors but they will not budge, no matter how much force she uses. 

Then, she turns around. 

Maz stands on the staircase, only now she is wearing a long golden shawl with opals and moonstones hanging off the tassels. She looks sad and disappointed.

Without taking her eyes off the tiny woman, Rey places the girl on her feet and stands in front of her, shielding her. 

“I cannot let you leave,” Maz tells her regretfully. 

“The doors - you have done something to them?”

But she already knows the answer. Whatever this woman is, she is not entirely human. 

“I have.”

Maz descends the stairs. Rey backs them away - back toward the study. It is not the direction she wants to go, and her hackles rise when Maz reaches the landing. 

“What are you?” she hisses at her, her eyes glowing amber and her teeth bared. 

Maz does not appear remotely frightened of her and continues down the steps. Smoke begins trailing into this part of the Manor in wispy tendrils, carrying the scent of burning wood. 

They do not have much time left. 

“There are many names for my kind, but suffice it to say that you will not be able to leave this Manor. My magic will prevent it.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Rey warns in a shaky voice. 

Every instinct in her body is commanding her to kill her. She does not want to leave the girl’s side though; she senses she is about to launch into a panic. She might run off somewhere in the Manor - either to the fire or to the others. They will kill Rey for this, that much she knows down the marrow of her bones. She can only imagine what they will do to the girl in retaliation. 

“Come now, Rey. We both know you have nowhere to go.” Maz slowly approaches them like she isn't in a hurry. Like she knows exactly how this will go.

The two of them are plastered against the study door now and Rey begins to panic a little herself. 

“I said no closer!” 

Just as Maz reaches out to them with a spark of strange green light in her hands, Rey strikes first. 

She does not know what to call the sensation - in one moment, she is snarling and hissing at Maz and in the next, an instinct takes over. Rey pushes her left hand out, palm facing out, and a powerful surge of invisible kinetic energy blasts out of her hand and straight into Maz. Horror lances through her, but not before she watches in dismal awe as that strange surge of energy strikes into Maz with the force of a battering ram and launches the tiny woman into the air. She disappears into the one of the adjoining rooms in a crash of glass and wood, screaming in pain and surprise. 

The look of surprise on the tiny woman’s face would have been comical, if it was not for the clear sound of the others screaming Rey’s name from elsewhere in the Manor. Some of them have escaped the ballroom and from the sounds of their shouting, they will be here any moment. 

She does not stick around to wait for them. 

Grabbing the girl’s hand, she throws open the door to the study and yanks her inside, slamming the door shut behind them. Smoke pours into the room, the scent acrid and harsh. The little girl - _Isabelle, her name is Isabelle_ \- Rey intuits through her powers, begins coughing. 

“What - what are we going to do?” Isabelle wails through her coughing. 

“Hush now. Let me think.” Rey checks the fireplace and sees that it is sealed off. Likely from Maz’s magic. 

She then turns for the windows, grabbing Isabelle’s hand and dragging her soundly across the room. She hammers on the glass with her bare hands and when this does not work, attempts throwing a chair through one of the bay windows, but this effort proves fruitless as well. 

Nothing will break the glass. They are well and truly trapped. 

Rey closes her eyes and tries to think of what to do next when Isabelle breaks down into hysterics. 

“I don’t want to die! I want to go home! Please, do something, please -”

She spins around so quickly, Isabelle yelps in fear, but then she is gripping the girl’s shoulders and draws her close until their eyes are level with one another. 

“We are going to escape,” Rey tells her with absolutely no idea how she will make good on that promise. “You just have to be brave for a little bit longer, okay _mon cher_?”

Isabelle stares back at her with her lips trembling and her face splotched with tears. She nods. 

“Very good. Now, stay here. I am going to -” But she never gets the chance to finish her sentence. 

Suddenly, the study doors _fly_ open with such force, one of the doors flies off its hinges and slams into the opposite wall, where it explodes into a million shards of wood. Isabelle's screams turn shrill and hysterical. 

A gigantic black wolf has taken up nearly the entire expanse of the doorway and he beast aims its terrible green eyes directly on Rey. She does not think to be afraid at that moment. Rather, she is _infuriated_. All of the misery from the last several months, the image of her families’ faces on the last night before they all died, all her fright and confusion and fury - all of it funnels down into one fine point. 

A roar of pure rage tears from her lips. Glass rattles from the force of her wild anger, the furniture shakes, and then something falls from on top of the mantle; a long wooden box she has never noticed before. It crashes to the floor and she catches a flash of something silver bursting out of it. 

Kylo, now fully transformed into wolf form, advances into the room with a tremendous roar of his own, but before he can lunge at her, she sees what it was that has fallen on the floor. 

A long silver sword lays at the foot of the fireplace, only a few feet away. Her father’s sword. 

Rey dives for it the moment Kylo leans back on his hind legs and leaps at her. Isabelle releases a blood-curdling scream of terror as she backs into the windows behind her until there is nowhere left for her to go. Rey slams into the floor in a painful heap, her hands wrapping around the hilt of the blade just as a large, black form crashes into her side. 

In a tangle of limbs, claws, and snapping teeth, they roll into the fireplace together. Her head cracks off the ceramic corner, but she does not feel anything except the flare of agonizing and burning pain in her hands. It is the hilt - the entire sword is silver, after all - yet despite the blinding pain, she does not let go. 

Kylo’s mad green eyes take up her entire vision and she gets her arm up just as his jaws lunge at her face. Teeth puncture her arm in a torrent of blood, but even then, she is still struggling against him. She manages to push him far enough off of her to get the blade up. The pain is nothing, the blood pouring all over her chest and gown - none of it matters if she can slay him, once and for all. 

He latches onto her arm, refusing to relinquish his grip as he growls and snarls. Dimly, she experiences a second-hand emotion from him - some carnal and instinctual satisfaction - and she realizes it is because he is _tasting_ her now. Her blood, gushing down his gullet. It is not the first time he has sampled her blood, but it is the first time he has _bitten_ her. 

She screams into his face with all the fury in her soul, loud enough to make entire room shake. A thrill of homicidal power surges through her, as it did with Maz out in the corridor. That power fills her again, and she uses it to slam her hand into Kylo’s hairy chest and launch him off of her. The blast of energy, more powerful than the first time she used it, hurls him away from her. His teeth rip painfully out of her arm, but then she is on her feet, no more noticing of her wounds than she is of anything else at that moment.

Her eyes glow manically and her teeth are bared. Kylo rolls to his paws and stands up on his hind legs once more, impressing upon her his sheer size against her. 

But she does not feel helpless. Not anymore. 

She raises the sword with a cry of pain and anger, her palms burnt so badly from the silver that they have turned black. Smoke rises from the blistered and mottled skin, and still, she will not relinquish her grip. 

“ _Come on_!” Rey screams at the wolf until her vocal cords strain with it. “ _Attack me, you bastard_!”

Kylo eyes simmer to dark emerald and right before he lunges at her, he howls his own fury at her defiance. He flies across the study, only this time he aims for her soft and unprotected middle. 

She swings the sword in a wide, powerful arc, the silver glinting in the air, before slicing through what feels very much like butter. 

Kylo bellows again, but this time it is in pure and utter agony. He crashes to the floor at her feet. She can see the wide, ugly slash she has made across the right side of his face, from just above his eye and down his chest. She stands above him, her entire body thrumming with power and vindication, but before she can raise her sword and deliver the killing blow, more screaming reaches her ears. 

It is the others.

They are not here yet, but they will be soon. Smoke is now billowing into the room and she can hear Isabelle hacking and gasping for breath. 

Rey stands over Kylo uncertainly, her sword poised to strike and although she will later blame her hesitance on Isabelle’s worrisome heaving for air, she wonders if she could not kill him after all. Even after everything he has put her through, there is a tether that binds them, coiled together in mutual hatred and awe. 

She backs away from him and turns to the girl. Her eyes are red and her face is going purple in her struggle to breathe. It is time to leave. Now, while they still can. 

“Stand back,” Rey tells her, but before the girl can move, she is already pulling her out of the way. She is now in so much pain from the silver she can barely hold onto the blade, yet she somehow finds the strength to raise it one more time. 

The window shatters in a spark of green light - the same green light she had seen in Maz’s hands earlier. The magic is broken. She drops the blade with a moan of anguish and pushes Isabelle out the window first, onto the cool lawn of the Manor. 

In a final stroke of cunning, she turns back to look at Kylo one last time. She could not kill him - but she can do something else. 

He is no longer in wolf form, and as he lies on the floor with a twisted black mark running down the right side of his face, she cannot decide if the look he aims at her is of fury, awe, longing, or a mixture of all three. 

“Goodbye Kylo,” she says to him with all the gravity that she has carried since the night of her turning. In her mind, she thinks _Uncle Pierre, Uncle Pierre on Isle Malabo, in West Africa, I will be safe there. They will never find me._

She thinks it so hard, she wonders how the thought is not blaring out loud, into the smoke-filled air for the whole universe to hear. 

Then, without waiting to hear his reply, she leaps out the window and into the night. 

She finds Isabelle in the grass, heaving for air and weeping weakly. Scooping her up with the effortlessness of a mother bear to her cub, Rey takes them across the courtyard and glances back at the Manor for the last time. The entire west wing is in flames. It will not be long before the entire thing goes up. 

She grins then, though she would be glad not to see herself at that moment. She looks just as feral and bloodthirsty as Kylo. 

Then, she turns to the night sky. 

There are no stars in that sky, just a blanket of black clouds and the company of cold air. Rey closes her eyes and breathes it in, and though the gesture might be unnecessary to her kind, she takes solace in it anyway. She has never attempted flying on her own, but suddenly it does not seem so terrifying.

Suddenly, it seems like the simplest thing in the world. 

With a soothing murmur to Isabelle, she launches off the cold hard ground and into that black sky. 

*

Isabelle falls asleep in her arms just as she takes them over Paris. 

Her hands ache terribly and she wonders if they will ever fully heal. The bite marks in her arm from Kylo have not healed either and she thinks it is the silver. She then decides she does not care because if this is the price she has to pay for freedom, then it is well worth it. She spares a thought to Finn then, to what he will do now that he is the only one there who has any spark of humanity left, however cowardly she finds him. 

She finds she still pities him after all. He is not her enemy and she hopes he has escaped the fire. That he has survived. 

Rey finally decides to land when they reach an oceanside port, where there are a large number of ships about to set off to all points of the globe. The sun will be up in an hour and she needs to leave this country. Tonight, before these ships leave, she will be on one of them. 

But she still has not decided what to do with Isabelle. 

“ _Mama_?” the little girl mutters in her sleep. 

“Hush, _petite femme._ We are safe. All is well.”

Her entire family is dead, just like hers. She could drop her off somewhere, at an orphanage perhaps, or somewhere else. But then, she would just be abandoning her and she does not know if she can do that. Not after everything else. 

Though Luke told her it was against their rules to keep with humans, Rey realizes she knows exactly what she will do with her. 

She smiles - the first true smile in what feels like a very long time. 

She approaches a man throwing barrels onto a large ship and when he first takes in her appearance and the little girl sleeping her arms, he looks startled. Too quick for him to see, she is suddenly right before him, her eyes glowing minutely in the dark light of pre-dawn. He is the captain of the ship, she sees in his mind. A man with good morals and a stern demeanor that she immediately takes as a good sign. 

“Where are you travelling, captain?” 

“We… we go through the Mediterranean,” he tells her in a daze. He is enraptured with her eyes, slack-jawed and a little breathless. “We stop at Crete, and then go onward, to the Suez Canal.”

“Where is Crete?” She coos to Isabelle when she stirs in her arms. 

“Greece,” he replies, hardly sparing Isabelle a glance before returning his worshipful gaze to Rey. “An island far off the coast.”

“An island?” Rey repeats in a soft, wondering tone. She smiles brightly then and the poor sea captain almost swoons at the sight. “Perfect. You will give us a cabin with no windows. None of your crew shall bother us and we shall keep to ourselves. Take us to this island, captain.”

“Yes,” he agrees eagerly. “I shall take you. You and your daughter.”

Rey pauses for only a second and then nods at the man. “Yes.”

Whispering into the sleeping girl’s ear, she smiles again as they follow the captain up a narrow plank and onto the gently rocking ship. For the first time in her life, she gazes across that black Mediterranean Sea and dares to hope that maybe all her fruitless daydreams are actually going to come true. 

Later on, when they are in their cabin, Rey burrows herself under the bed to take her rest for the day. At some point, Isabelle crawls off the bed to join her and she awakes the next night with her cradled in her arms. She cleans them both up as best as she can, and takes them up to the deck for the fresh air of night. 

The sea is calm and still. The crew ignores them both, leaving them to stare in mystified wonder at all that open space. 

“Where are we going?” Isabelle asks her. She has not let go of her hand the entire night, and in the nights to come, when they set about the slow business of getting to know one another, as two survivors and eventually, as mother and daughter, it will be the same. Like they have always been together, like this is where they were always meant to be. 

Before Rey answers the girl, she thinks she hears something on the wind. A voice, both rich and deep, calling out her name. It is Kylo’s face she sees in her mind; those dark green eyes, that black shock of hair. She wonders if he is scarred from her blade, the same way her palms are now scarred. Marked for each other and their eternal doom. 

She stares out at the dark ocean, knowing that somewhere out there, her island is waiting for her. And that someday, Kylo might find her again. She cannot decide if she fears for that moment or relishes it. 

“We are going home,” Rey finally tells Isabelle and together, they set off towards their uncertain future as gentle darklings, as gentle children of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Rey might think she is rid of Kylo and the Skywalker Clan but she has not seen the last of them. Not by a long shot.


	12. Through the Mirror, Darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is done, she tells herself firmly. Let it go. 
> 
> But it does not feel done. Far from it and she cannot decide how she feels about that, much to her own horror. Rey tells herself that she cannot truly long for a monster. After all he did, she cannot miss him. 
> 
> Can she?
> 
> Rey and Isabelle have found their island and created a whole new life for themselves, only Rey will soon discover that certain ghosts do not want to stay dead and the past she has fled from is much closer than she could ever imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part Two of my vampire/horror/romance/trash heap saga! There is a lot to come here - new characters will be introduced, along with the inclusion of some old ones. And Rey is going to discover far more about herself than she ever wanted to. As to the absence of Kylo and the rest of Rey's vampiric siblings, to quote Luke Skywalker "No one's ever really gone." ;)
> 
> Also, just for a little FYI for anyone interested, in my endnotes, I have written a small blurb about where each of the vampires is from. Just something a little extra for you! :D
> 
> Image One (Rey): The Last Jedi - Disney  
> Image Two (Isabelle inspiration): Trinh sam - Art Station  
> Image Three (dreams and mirrors): Veronika-Art Deviant Art 
> 
> German Translation:  
> Das Kind ist ein Kind ist ein Kind - The child is not a child, is not a child, is not a child.

**Part Two: The Fox and The Wolf**

****

****

Rey finishes the tale of their great escape, in what she envisions as the first part of this dark epilogue of her life. She can still feel Kylo’s teeth in her skin, even after all these years. When she runs a hand over her forearm, there are several smooth divots, his imparting mark on her. 

But it is her palms that she stares at the longest, the echo of her words fading away as the silence reigns true over the empty apartment. The scars in her hands are deep, even to this day. Ugly and mottled, the same type of scars one would find on burn victims. 

She closes her hands into fists and sighs. 

Poe regards her for a long time in utter silence. He is speechless, his eyes wide as his gaze flicks over the details of her face. If there was ever any doubt of him believing her, that time has long since passed. 

“I think your battery is dying.”

He looks down at his phone as though he does not recognize it. He makes no immediate move to go to his backpack, where she knows he has a phone charger stored. He just looks up at her, like he is in a dream, and wets his lips before speaking. 

“There’s more, right? Tell me that’s not the end.” 

He is breathless, yet Rey can detect a tremor of eagerness in his mind. She has often felt the same way when reading a particularly diverting book or attending a play or cinema piece. That thirst for more holds its own kind of hunger. 

“Oh, there is more. The question is if you are willing to listen to the rest tonight.”

“Hell, I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.” He laughs jaggedly and she entertains his mirth with a soft smile of her own. 

“So you want to hear the rest?”

“Are you kidding? I need to know what happens. Right until the end. Just… if it gets close to when you need to get back to your coffin - or whatever - let me know.”

Rey smiles and inclines her head towards his phone when it makes a fretful beep to let him know it is just about out of battery. 

In a move that is comical with overeagerness, Poe flies up from his seat and rifles through his bag on the floor for the cable. Before he finds it he pauses to look up at her again. There is an almost worshipful quality to his gaze that nearly makes her roll her eyes at him. 

“All of that… Luke, Kylo and the others. What you did, how you got away… Fuck, what they turned you _into_ \- it’s all real. Isn’t it?” 

The question seems silly, but she supposes she can understand his hesitance. After all, vampires only exist in terrible teen novels and their even more awful film adaptations. To a mortal’s mind, this would be an extreme concept to accept. In the realm of fantasy and nightmare.

Poe is doing remarkably well for one of his kind and so her response is less derisive than it might have been in any other circumstance. 

“Every word,” she says simply. 

He grabs the charging cable, then takes his seat once more. Still, he does not plug it in and she waits, knowing there are more questions. She is frankly surprised he has let her get through so much of her story without interrupting, though she wonders if that was more out of fear than courtesy. 

“What is it Poe?” 

He meets her gaze again, swallows and then looks away. She waits with the same patience he has afforded her all night. She owes him that much, she supposes. 

Then, finally:

“Why me?”

Once again, she finds herself grudgingly impressed by this man. He knows how to cut to the middle of things.

“I knew you would listen.” She nods at him when he looks startled by her answer. “I could sense your love of stories. All those little fairytales your mother used to read to you, when you still lived in that small village in Guatemala. Santa Catarina Palopo, was it? Yes, that’s right… I also happen to know that you read those same fairy tales back to her, days before she died of a brain tumor.”

“How - how can you know that?” Poe says in a breathless whisper. 

Rey leans across the table just enough to grasp his hand in hers. Her skin is cool to the touch and though he does not recoil, she can see the way he tenses up. 

“It’s one of my gifts,” she tells him gently. “When I saw how much you loved stories, I knew you were the right person to hear my tale. I knew you would listen, start to finish. And I am right, aren’t I?”

“I guess so,” he answers shakily. When she lets go of his hand, she notes his relief that they are not touching anymore and has to suppress a smirk. 

“Plug in your gadget. We have quite a bit to get through yet.”

Poe hastens to do just that and she leans back in her chair, her gaze lingering on the city lights of Chicago, to all those distant skyscrapers dappling the black skyline. The wind sighs through one of the open windows and Rey closes her eyes in remembrance; all she smells is honeysuckle, jasmine, and a hint of rosemary. 

_Isabelle,_ she thinks, and when she opens her eyes, there is a hint of bloody-red in them. A monster’s tears for the sodden world it has left behind. 

She remembers Crete. She remembers pretty blue eyes and a dazzling smile of childish wonder. She remembers sea salt and honeysuckle and jasmine. She remembers the daughter she never asked for, but had been all too happy to accept. 

_The child is not a child, is not a child, is not a child._

Rey remembers those words best of all. Whispered nonsense in the air, a premonition of the true darkness to come. 

Poe speaks her name, and when she looks at him, she can see that knowingness there. A wonder, however hesitant, over what has pulled her away from this room. He hits the play button on his phone, yet it is not Rey who starts speaking but him. 

“You said this was a love story.” 

Rey nods in affirmation. 

“But if you left Kylo and the others to die -?”

“No skipping to the end. Remember?” 

Poe snorts softly and then laughs. “Ten-four, sister.”

“Perfect. Then let’s get back to it, shall we?”

*

The horizon on her canvas is off. Tilted to the left, ever so slightly. The tide line is not quite as low as she depicted, and the sand not quite as beige. She has gotten the moon right, though. How it is not quite full, like a giant has shaved a fine sliver off the side, the way one peels an apple with a paring knife. 

She is getting better every day, her brushstrokes less clumsy and her shading and colouring more nuanced. There is a romance to painting that she never thought she would appreciate. An eloquence to the choice she must make every time she lands the brush to canvas. 

These small things please Rey, though they probably have no right to. 

Down in the village at the bottom of the mountain, there are artists who sell their work on corners. She spares them, and everyone else on this mountain. It has been a long time since she has fed on a human. 

Five years, to be exact. 

Rey stands at the edge of a very steep, very _tall_ cliffside. Below, on the bluffs, the ocean meets the earth. She can hear that thunderous tide all the way from up here. On clear nights, when the moon is new and the wind is down, she can see every star in that Mediterranean sky. Venus, proud and twinkling. Mars, that red speck of light, crusading across the night sky. The North Star and all the constellations - she can see everything from her little perch. 

Clear nights, like tonight, are her treasures. She paints by them, rendering the black sea and the black sky in all the colours man can create. She prefers oil paints to acrylic, though the merchant who sells them to her always warns her they are hard to paint with. As if it has not been five years since she began shopping from him, as if she has not painted with them every single night thereafter. 

Though, she supposes, it _would_ seem like the first night to the merchant. 

She glamours all memories of her from his mind, each and every time they meet. It is safer that way. There has been no trouble these five years. Everything that happened to her - the sword and the forest, Luke and Finn, all the others and… Kylo - it seems like a lifetime ago. 

_Oh, how you love your denials,_ a traitorous voice whispers in Rey’s mind - a voice that suspiciously sounds like _him_. _But when you go to rest in your little cellar, your dreams cannot lie, can they? And I am right there, to greet you. Every day the same._

Rey knows he is not really here. 

In fact, she has not felt anything from him, or any of the others, since she left them in the Manor to either burn to death or make their own escape. A part of her is waiting for the day when they find her again. Sometimes, she convinces herself that they are all dead and that she is finally safe. Finally _free_. That she can have her island and her daughter, and maybe everything will be alright. 

The other part of her keeps waiting to turn a corner one night and he will be right there. Grinning his terrible grin, his eyes glowing like emeralds and his hands reaching for her throat. 

After five years, there has been no sign of any of them. So for as long as she can, she is going to hold on to her hope that they all died, after all. That the night in the forest was worth something, if not her mortal life. 

Rey steps away from her canvas and eyes her painting critically. 

One day, she may tire of painting the sea, but Isabelle loves her work, regardless of what she paints. When they began to run out of room on the walls, where all her artwork is hung up at Isabelle’s sharp insistence, Rey began to store the ones that would not fit in a small bedroom they never use. There must be hundreds of paintings in there by now. Isabelle will not let her throw away a single one. 

There are other paintings, too. Ones that Isabelle is not allowed to see. Ones that Rey keeps tucked away, in a small nook too tiny to be called a proper attic. It is a crawl space, more than anything, which she supposes is fitting for those pieces. 

They belong in the darkness and nowhere else. 

*

Rey enters their tiny cottage, her hands covered in paint and her simple white dress splattered here and there with colour. She prefers these dresses to the ones they used to make her wear; these are much more comfortable. Cotton, plain, simple, and made for utility. She has even sewed pockets on them for her brushes and sponge. 

Isabelle sits by the fire with a book in her hand, as is fairly typical. It has been a slow fruit of labour, teaching the girl to read, but after five years she _devours_ books with a ferocity that impresses even Rey. They do not leave the cottage much, only venturing into town when Isabelle needs human things, like food and other amenities, and when Rey has run out of her art supplies. 

Or when she needs to feed. Usually, on deer or any larger animals, she can find, but occasionally on rats if she gets desperate. 

Their life on the island is beautifully simple and she would not have it any other way... Though lately, things have become somewhat strained between them. Their argument from the other day recurs to her then, as she pauses to watch the girl read. Isabelle is pretending to ignore her but she knows better. She is still piqued. 

Rey supposes she will be for some time. 

_I want to be like you! Why can’t you understand that?_

_You do not want that. Trust me, my love. You think I don’t understand but I do. Far more than you ever could._

Rey closes her eyes and wills these thoughts away. They made up after that fight - she had found an orchard and picked over two dozen apples for her. Her favourite. Only then would Isabelle so much as acknowledge her presence when she entered the room. 

But she is still angry over it. Rey wishes more than anything that she could make her understand. 

Although the subject has not come up again, she can feel the way it encroaches on every waking moment between them. How Isabelle looks at her when she thinks she does not notice, with equal measures of longing and frustration. 

No, that fight is far from over. Rey would like to avoid it for as long as possible. To keep things as they are, just for a while longer. 

She moves about the room at a feverish speed, first depositing her brushes in her jar of water and vinegar, and then pulling off her dress in the other room to replace it with a clean one. Only seconds have gone by before she returns to the main sitting room, to pull a small blanket over Isabelle’s shoulders. 

There is a chill in the air tonight and she does not want her coming down with another fever. The last one had been so bad, she had to glamour a local physician into coming up the mountain with her to treat the girl. The poor man’s mind had been a little addled after that last episode - she had not let him leave for almost a week and by the time he left, he was so glamoured, he was lucky he knew his own first name. 

Isabelle does not so much as pause in her reading, despite the impossible speed at which Rey navigates the cottage. She is used to her vampiric mannerisms, in just the same way she is used to her human ones. 

“I made you something,” Isabelle murmurs. She still does not look up from her book, her brows wrinkled slightly as she turns the page. 

Rey regards her quietly, wishing that she would just look at her. Just once. When she does not get her wish, she purses her lips and notices a necklace sitting on top of her paint supplies. She picks it up and examines it carefully. Beautiful glass beads line the string; blue, purple, and deep green. 

She lingers on the green beads the longest, her mind jogging back to the dream she had last night. 

“It’s tanzanite."

She nearly jumps out of her skin, but then she realizes that Isabelle is not speaking of the green beads, but the large gemstone in the middle of the necklace. It is indigo, a beautiful mix of purple and blue. She instantly loves it. 

“However did you get it?” Rey asks, flabbergasted and suspicious. 

Isabelle peeks at her minutely before quickly turning back to her book. “I didn’t steal it if that is what you’re asking.”

“It wasn’t. I'm just curious. The stone is beautiful. I love it.”

Isabelle shrugs uncomfortably and despite her fixed attention on the book, Rey knows she is not reading it anymore. That she might be a little embarrassed if she is not mistaken.

She hides a pleased smile from the girl and pretends to admire the necklace some more. 

“How goes the Prince?” Rey inquires softly, in an effort to take away some of the tension from the room. She puts the necklace on, the circumference of the string leaving her just enough room to slide it over her head. The stone settles over her heart and she rubs at it absently. She will not question Isabelle any further on how she got the stone; not when their truce is on such unsteady ground. 

She would rather not fight with her tonight. 

“He ran into a bunch of pirates,” Isabelle tells her absently. She flips to the next page and Rey smiles down at her affectionately.

“I wanted to be a pirate, once.”

She goes to the small hearth, stoking the fire and getting the pot ready to make Isabelle some tea. Despite her nocturnal schedule, she tries to make sure Isabelle gets to bed before midnight. The girl does not like this routine, mostly because she does not get to spend as much time with her as she likes. Just because she has to sleep during the day, does not mean a growing girl should too. 

She does not notice that Isabelle has stopped reading until she turns around to look for where she has left the tea leaves. Her blue eyes are just as precious and doll-like as the day she met this sturdy little girl. Her curls have grown so long they are almost unruly but she refuses to trim her hair. And Rey, well… She has a hard time saying no to her. In any matter, really. 

“You did?” Isabelle asks in surprise. The scar running across her face has paled even more with the passage of time, but it will always remain there. A cruel crevice in her otherwise flawless ivory skin. 

“Oh yes,” Rey tells her with a wink. “I wanted to travel the world on my own ship and never have to answer to anyone. I wanted to find an island that was mine, where I could read all day and never have to do chores.”

“Hmph. Sounds nice.”

If there is one thing Rey has imparted to this girl over the last few years, it is her grousing sarcasm. Chores are not Isabelle’s favourite pastime, but this is another habit she insists on instilling in the girl. 

With a huff, Isabelle returns back to her book. 

“Well, I got half my wish at least,” Rey murmurs, but she is already looking away, towards the hearth and the flames crackling within. 

She is thinking about them again. Or _him_ , more aptly. She is thinking about the night he pillaged her mind, how he saw her dreams and hopes and pulverized them with the clench of his fist. How he had tried so hard to make her like him and how she had tried so hard to deny that she was already halfway there. Most of all, she thinks about the way they were the last time they were in a room together. How the silver of the sword burned into her hands, permanently scarring them both, and how his face cracked in half at the swipe of her blade. How he had _stared_ up at her like he had never seen her properly before and how she...

 _It is done,_ she tells herself firmly. _Let it go._

But it does not feel done and she cannot decide how she feels about that. 

Rey tells herself that she cannot truly long for a monster. After all he did, she cannot _miss_ him. 

Can she?

*

Rey blinks at the goblet in her hand with confusion. 

She is certain she was just sitting with her mother in the parlour of her childhood home; they were arguing again, about a boy who had come by the house the night before, seeking her hand in marriage. On the night before her entire family died. 

“He said you were the only one,” her mother had told her, strident and angry. Only she remembers now that she could not see her mother’s face. There was just a blank oval where her facial features should have been. “He said you were his salvation, _mon cher_. I just want you to be whole again, Rhylen. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

But her mother is gone now and so is her childhood home. 

Rey peers around this new room and frowns. It is familiar. The furniture is expensive; the décor garish. The walls are cream, the carpet thick and soft under her bare feet. She looks down at herself and sees that she is wearing a purple satin gown, just like the one she wore on the night…

Rey stands up suddenly and the goblet drops from her limp hand. Blood splashes against the carpet, staining the fabric crimson. When she stumbles out what she knows to be a sitting room of an apartment in central Paris, she is not at all surprised to find Lady Irmele sitting on a chaise lounge across from her. Small bones protrude through the fine, wrinkled skin of the old woman’s broken neck. Her eyes are no longer their true colour, but a filmy white. 

“ _Das Kind ist ein Kind ist ein Kind_ ,” Lady Irmele tells her in rapid German. Flies buzz around her head and land on her face, but she does not appear to care or notice. 

“I don’t understand. I... I don't...” 

But Lady Irmele only smiles at her, wide and malevolent. 

Rey flees from the room, but instead of running out the front door as she wants to, she goes up the staircase. She has no control over her own limbs; they are at the command of a force far stronger than herself. And she knows where they are taking her. 

To the bathroom, of course. Where else? 

There is a puddle of dried blood on the floor right outside the bathroom door but no body. She skids through the gore, slamming the door closed behind her and resting against it. Her heart is racing, which should be impossible. She is just as dead as the old matriarch downstairs. Just as damned. She leans her head on the door and closes her eyes, pulling in deep, useless breaths. 

She just wants to go back to her island. Just for a little longer. Is it so terrible for her to want to dream? Is it so terrible to hold on to her tiny empire, to clasp it close to her heart and pretend, just for a little longer, that she might be saved?

Rey’s eyes fly open at the sudden loud _thump_ of a fist against glass. She spins to the window, but there is only blackness outside that small rectangle. Not even the city lights are visible. When the _thump_ sounds again, only this time so loud that the walls and floors shake, she slowly turns to the only other place it could be coming from. 

The mirror hangs above the sink, the same as it was the last time she was here. Only, she can no longer see her reflection in it. At first, she thinks the mirror is dirty but when she cautiously leans closer to it, she sees it is not dirty at all.

It is _frozen_.

The glass is opaque; she can only see a vague outline of herself there. She holds absolutely still and stares at the mirror, tracing the dark shape of her reflection. 

And then, the reflection _moves._

Rey gasps and tries to draw away but she finds she is stuck in place. Familiar power tendrils in the air, invisible to the eye and yet so vitally present that she winces at the pressure in her temples. At first, she does not understand what she is seeing until she realizes the shape on the other side of the mirror is growing larger. Moving, like it is _walking_ towards the glass. Towards her. 

She holds her breath and suddenly, her heart rate vanishes. Just stops beating altogether. Coldness creeps into her bones and muscles, and she knows then that she is dying. All over again. This time, though, there is no fear or pain. No blinding confusion. This death is in her mind, but that does not make it any less real. 

The figure draws closer. There is a familiarity with to the shape that forms. Wide shoulders. Hair that is nothing like hers, but shorter, wavier, and wild. Even the walk seems familiar to her; loping, plodding, graceless. 

Then the figure stops until they are roughly the same distance to the mirror that she is on this side. 

“It is too soon,” Rey finds herself saying, without any forethought whatsoever. “Just a little longer. Please?”

The figure tilts their head and then straightens. She has to crane her head to look at where the face would be, but still she cannot see any of their features. Just like with her mother. And she suddenly finds that she does not want to know who this is, even if in her darkest of hearts, she already knows. A piece of herself lies on the other side of that mirror, a piece of herself that she left behind five years ago. 

And it is calling out to her now, so quietly, so gently. It won’t stay quiet for much longer. Soon, it will turn into a _roar_ and then there will be nowhere safe to run to. 

Despite herself, Rey raises her right hand and slowly extends it towards the mirror. Everything in her is screaming at her to pull her hand away - now, before it is too late. To flee from this house, this dream, this unending nightmare. Flee until she cannot run anymore. 

But she does not do any of those things. 

Her hand touches down on chilled glass and she waits, suspended between the land of the waking and this dark hollow of dreams. The ice coating the glass starts to melt. The mirror becomes visible, piece by piece, until she can see a mop of familiar black hair. She sees a black coat, high collared and stiff. She sees a strong forehead, sloped jaw, angled cheekbones, and plush, red lips. 

His eyes she sees last. 

They glow green at her, dark and unknowable, emerald and untold. His hand is pressed to the mirror and though the glass separates their skin, she can still feel him. He does not grin or leer, as she thought he would have. He only stares at her, drinking his fill. 

When he speaks to her, it is in ancient German, the language of the Vandals. She understands him perfectly. 

“ _Dreams always end, my love_ ,” he tells her, his voice just as deep and timberous as she remembers. “ _But we are eternal. You and I_.” 

Before Rey can draw her hand away, the expression on his face changes, hardening to the fine rage she knows too well. He pulls his hand away and _smashes_ it right through the mirror. 

But it is not Rey he grabs for. 

His hands close over something on her chest and he tears it off of her in one violent thrust. She makes a startled sound at the sudden motion, but she is not quick enough to catch him. Clutched in his hand is the necklace Isabelle made for her. He holds up the gemstone in the middle, appraising it with the faintest of smiles. 

“Tanzanite... how beautiful,” he tells her, but he is not looking at the stone anymore.

His eyes bore into hers and as she stumbles away from the mirror and falls out of this dream and into the deep blackness of true sleep, his words follow her down, just as they always have. 

“I am coming, _lila_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering:
> 
> Kylo was born in 425, the Prince of the King of the Vandals. He was turned into a vampire when he was just shy of his thirtieth birthday. In a little (or a LOT) of historical embellishment, Kylo led the Vandals to sack the city of Rome (an actual historical event). During this battle, Luke was nearby and observed Kylo fighting - how he was ruthless and rode right into battle alongside his subjects. Luke decided to turn him. They travelled all over the world together, as equals, for hundreds of years before finding Kylo some siblings. 
> 
> Luke and Kylo discovered Rose in modern-day Vietnam and she was the second turned in 1132. 
> 
> Hux in England in 1230. 
> 
> Finn in Northern Africa (modern-day Kenya) in 1287. 
> 
> Jango, an Aboriginal native from Australia, in 1347.  
> Bazine in Romania in 1374.  
> Mitaka in Russia in 1388.  
> Kaydel in Wales in 1391. 
> 
> Finally, Rey is born in the early-mid 1400s in Southern France and turned shortly after her nineteenth birthday.


	13. Collapsible Castles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I…” Rey trails off, wailing in misery as Isabelle’s eyes close and she slips into unconsciousness. She is going to let her die. She is because she can’t condemn her to the hell that is this half-life. This phoney, monstrous existence. She can’t. 
> 
> It takes Rey far longer than it should have to hear the unmistakable sound of hands clapping together from behind her.
> 
> Rey is forced to make an impossible choice and a ghost from her greatest nightmares reappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite chapters so far. Poor Rey just can't get out of her own way, can she?
> 
> Warnings:  
> Self-harm: (will be updating the tags accordingly, I did not plan to include a scene with this but it came up organically. If Self-harm bothers you, you can skip between the lines "The firelight leaves no detail spared..." to "Then she sees a pair of eyes glowing at her from within that darkness..."  
> Blood and feeding: in this case, a vampire feeding a human. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the latest instalment! <3
> 
> Image One (Rey's Decision): BoomDaFunk, Tumblr  
> Image Two (dream phantoms): gwendy85, Tumblr

Rain splashes against the shutters in a cacophony of soothing sound. 

Rey only wishes such serenity could reach her. The weather has kept her inside tonight. Instead, she paints by the firelight and attempts to capture the colours of the flames. Fire should terrify her as a vampire, but it only reminds her of good things. Escape. Redemption. Vindication. 

Yet, she cannot deny that when she awoke in her coffin tonight, she was filled with a sense of disquiet. Almost every night upon awakening, she remembers her dreams. It has always been this way for her, even when she was still human. Her father had been an excellent listener this way. With the duty he would usually ascribe to trading with local merchants, he listened to his daughter recount her dreams every morning, even if her mother did not approve of such talk at the breakfast table. No matter how surreal or strange the dream, he was always an impartial listener, always lending an ear so that Rey might take the power of those dreams away and be able to go about her day without them plaguing her thoughts. 

Her father is long dead now. Her dreams have morphed into dark incubuses that she would no sooner recite to Isabelle than take her down to the village to see one of the tavern’s lurid plays. It has been so long since Rey has dreamed and _not_ remembered that she cannot help but feel uneasy as she paints by the firelight.

Because she cannot recall last night’s dream. Not one scant detail.

She can hazard a guess that a certain someone made a guest appearance, as he always does. Every night the same. That part does not surprise her, even if it dismays her. She just cannot rid herself of a nagging feeling of dread, like she has missed something important. 

_Even if Kylo survived the fire, he has no idea where I am. I made him think we were fleeing to Africa. We are safe here. Maybe… maybe my dreams are free of him because I am finally letting go._

She wishes she believed that. She really does.

She stops painting for a moment, her gaze growing hazy and distant. There is something there, if she thinks hard enough about it. The rational side of her mind bemoans this effort, but she keeps going. It feels important all of a sudden. Vital, even. So she pushes past the strange fog hanging over last night's dream. She closes her eyes and summons her vampiric powers, which she has used so seldom for the past five years.

Immediately, she feels stronger; more aware.

The fog in her mind parts, just enough for her to see something reflective and shimmery. She remembers… a mirror. But it wasn’t a mirror, at the same time. She does not understand how that could be and tries to remember more.

Before she can go further, a voice interrupts her thoughts. 

“You took it off?” 

Her eyes snap open and she looks over her shoulder to find Isabelle standing in the kitchen, with a look of accusation aimed at her. 

“What?” Rey frowns at her, confused. Half her mind is still on her dream - on that strange mirror - but by the rapidly souring expression on Isabelle’s face, she scrambles to try and piece together what she is talking about. 

“The necklace. You aren’t wearing it.”

She automatically reaches up, but she only touches the skin of her throat. The necklace is gone and for a moment, that seed of unease flares into bright fear. She pauses a little too long because Isabelle shakes her head in aggravation and turns away from her. 

“I didn't take it off,” Rey calls to her retreating back, earnest and exasperated. “It must have fallen off while I slept.”

But that doesn’t feel quite right to her.

“It’s fine,” Isabelle says, opening the pantry and ducking her head inside to search for a night snack. 

Rey drops her hand into her lap and shakes her head, disgruntled. She did not take off the necklace - that much she is certain of. She’ll just have to check her coffin later... 

When it becomes evident that Isabelle does not wish to continue the conversation, she turns back to her painting and attempts to focus on that. She cannot quite find her footing again, though. She keeps thinking about her dream, but nothing she does makes her remember any more details. 

Isabelle rifles through the pantry some more and then there is a pause before her footsteps return to the living room.

Rey reaches for the red paint, trying and failing to pull herself out of her troubling thoughts. So what if she dreamed about a mirror? She dreams about odd things all the time. A mirror is certainly a lot tamer than the dreams she usually has. Maybe she is right. Maybe she is finally moving past _him_. Would that be so terrible?

_...dreams always end…_

Rey’s spine goes ramrod straight and her eyes open wide in a flash of seething amber. That was _his_ voice, deep in the fog of her concealed dream. The paintbrush falls out of her hand and onto the floor, splashing droplets of crimson across the small area rug Isabelle had helped her pick out at the market, two years ago. 

Everything in her seizes up at once. 

She held a goblet in the dream. She _dropped_ it, staining a suspiciously familiar carpet in crimson. Only it was not paint that had spilt from that goblet. 

“Mama?” She looks up from the floor to see that Isabelle is standing a few feet away and regarding her with naked concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rey replies faintly. Utterly unnerved, she bends down to pick up the paintbrush but does not wipe up the red paint. She continues staring at it for a long moment, hoping against hope that more of the dream will reveal itself. When nothing else comes back to her, she closes her eyes and straightens up on her stool. 

“Mama I… I want to talk to you. About something.”

“Yes?” She does not look up at Isabelle right away. She has a hard time tearing her eyes off the paint on the floor, but when she briefly glances up at the girl, her heart drops for an entirely different reason. 

Isabelle hovers unsurely by the fireplace. She won’t quite meet her eyes and keeps tugging on the cuffs of her gown. 

“What is it?” Rey asks cautiously. 

“I don’t want to fight. I just want to talk.”

Isabelle half turns away from her, as though changing her mind before she takes a deep breath and meets her gaze head-on.

She does not like the look in her eyes; that spark of determination and stubbornness that she recognizes as her own handiwork. The two of them really are alike for not being biologically mother and daughter. In reality, Isabelle is only six years younger than when she was turned into a vampire, but already she feels much older. Ancient, even though it has only been five years. 

And she knows exactly what she will say before she says it because this is an old argument between them. 

“Isabelle…”

“Wait - please listen to me." 

She stands not five feet away now and even though Rey has already fed tonight, on a deer that wandered close to the house, she can hear the excited patter of her heart. Coupled with the seed of anxiety over her dream and the looming fight before her - because she knows no matter what Isabelle says this will assuredly end in an argument - she suddenly feels that she has no control over her impulses.

She can hear Isabelle’s blood rushing through her veins, so tantalizingly alive and vital. Her hunger’s urges are mostly under control, but every once in awhile, especially when she broaches _this_ subject, the hunger returns. Digging in its ugly talons into her guts, as though taunting her to deny it once again. 

_Oh, how you love your denials,_ the ghost of Kylo’s voice repeats in her head and she decides right then and there that she is thinking about him far more than she ever should. 

“I know what you are going to say and my answer has not changed. Nor will it. _Ever_.” 

Rey does not mean to sound so harsh, but there is no other way anymore. They have argued over this, once so badly that Isabelle left the house in tears and would only come back when she forced her to. For the past few weeks, they have settled into an uneasy truce but it was only a matter of time before it all came up again. 

And she _can’t_. She cannot do what the girl asks of her. Not with this. 

“So you just want me to grow old and wither away? Is that it?” Isabelle says quietly. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her cheeks reddening and the vein in her throat _throbbing_ …

Rey has to turn away from her. She _has_ to. 

No doubt, the girl will take this as a dismissal and that might be for the best right now because - her insides give a painful _squeeze_. Blood - she wants it. All she can hear is the roar in the girl’s veins and it is like a tsunami, it will take everything that she has worked hard to build. 

And bring everything back that she has worked so hard to avoid. 

“Isabelle, you do not know what you ask of me. If you did, you would not ask again.” 

She is shaking a little because how did it become so easy for the hunger to return? She has had it under control for so long that to feel it resurge with such vengeance is alarming. 

“I am asking to live with you here. Forever. So that we can be together - _forever_. How can that be so terrible, Mama?” Isabelle’s warm fingers brush across her shoulder, as though seeking comfort in touch. 

But it is a comfort she cannot give her. Not right now. Not with the hunger curdling within her, and tempting her to violence. 

Rey stands from her stool and is halfway out the door before Isabelle can cry out in both surprise and dismay. 

“Don’t go!” 

Rey makes the mistake of looking back at her; at all those tears, at those blue eyes and blonde curls. At her daughter, who she has tried so hard to protect and who she is failing so completely. She has made her live a half life in the darkness because she is selfish. Maybe she would have been better off leaving her at an orphanage in France. At least then, she would have been with her own kind and she would not be asking the impossible of her. 

“I will be back in a little while,” Rey tells her quietly. She closes the door on the girl’s sobs, but she does not turn back again. 

Though she is darkly tempted to. 

*

When Rey makes it into the village, she almost kills a drunk man wandering around the docks. It is a close thing when she brushes past him. So close that her fingers graze his arm, as though meaning to snatch him into her eternal embrace. 

Somehow, she lets him go.

When she makes it to the shoreline, she walks right into the water, trembling with the fury of her hunger. This little fairytale has to end. She can glamour Isabelle and bring her somewhere safe on the island so that she never remembers her or anything that happened in the last five years. Then she’ll leave and never return. Go somewhere else, maybe explore the African continent, or go even further. To the Orient. 

After a while, she drags herself out of the water. Her dress and boots are completely soaked, but she barely notices. Misery - that is all she feels now. Misery and self-pity and anger. She makes it back to the docks and turns back to regard that black Mediterranean. She will miss the sea and all its dark wonders. She will miss painting by the cliffside and listening to Isabelle learn how to read. She will miss her island. 

But this façade has to end. 

She turns away from the ocean and walks up a narrow wooden staircase to the main street. Checking that no one is around to see, she is about to take off for the sky and fly home, when she feels it. 

Rey freezes on the boardwalk, her dress dripping water and her eyes transforming into a blistering, glowing amber. Nothing moves on the empty boardwalk. There is not so much as a whisper of wind tonight. The sea is like glass behind her, eerily calm and still. 

And yet, like a tickle on the nape of her neck, she has the unmistakable feeling of being watched. 

Her teeth prick her lips as she turns around to check the way behind her. The beach is empty and from what she can see in the dark - which is a great deal - there is no one in the grass, or up on the rocks either. 

Slowly, the feeling fades away until she becomes convinced that she might have imagined it. No one emerges onto the docks and her eyes fade back to hazel.

Perhaps she did imagine it then, but for a moment she was almost certain… No. It’s impossible. She’s just been thinking about that dream too much and now, with what she must do, she is plagued with guilt. That is the only rational explanation for it. 

After one final doubtful glance to her surroundings, Rey flies away from the docks and tries to put behind that nagging feeling of unease in favour of what she must yet still do. 

*

When she returns to the cottage, there is a stillness in the air she does not care for. 

The shadows seem to gather around the porch, dark and unbidden. She takes a cautious step forward, half-convinced she is being followed. No glowing eyes greet her from the trees. She cannot hear anything except the wind and the ocean in the distance. She looks at the cottage and finds a single candle lit in the living room window. 

Isabelle is still awake then. 

Since the first day of moving into their little cottage on Crete, they developed a system. If Rey goes out to paint, or to hunt, Isabelle is to put a candle in the living room window if she is still awake. And if anyone strange comes to the cottage, or anything bad happens, Isabelle is to move the candle to the kitchen window and leave it there. 

Rey breathes a little easier at seeing the candle where it should be. 

But this is only a modicum of relief. Now, she must do what she has refused to since escaping the Manor five years ago. She must end the fantasy of normal life and… Her steps falter and she presses a shaking hand to her chest. Tears well up, those crimson droplets of cowardice and heartache. This is all her fault and now Isabelle must suffer because of it. 

_Regret it later,_ she tells herself. _This is not about you right now. This is about what is best for the girl._

If only she really believed that. 

Her hunger has calmed down at least, so when she enters the cottage and closes the door behind her, she does not smell it right away. In fact, she makes as far as the living room, with Isabelle’s name on her lips and her teeth gritted with determination, only for her to stumble to a halt. 

“Mama… I’m sorry, I… had to.”

Rey does not register her words right away. Everything, from the twisted mottle of her hunger to her frightened shock and dismay, is narrowed down to the blooming pool of blood on the floor.

The firelight leaves no detail spared.

Her gaze flit from the blood to the gaping wounds on Isabelle’s wrists. Her blonde curls are caked in gore. A pair of kitchen scissors lay on the floor near her head. The blood flowing from the girl’s slit wrists is torpid now. Maybe because there is almost none left to bleed. 

“ _Isabelle_!” Rey shrieks and finally she remembers how to move. 

She crosses the room at light speed, mindless of the blood all over the floor, and drags the girl into her lap. Her own tears fall freely, dotting the girl’s ashen face and adding to the macabre. 

“I’m sorry,” Isabelle repeats in a breathless whisper. “But now… we can be together.”

Rey does not have it in her to be angry right now. She is frantic, in utter and complete shock because if she doesn’t help her, if she doesn’t _turn_ her, she will die. Right here, in front of her eyes. She is already pulling up the sleeve of her gown, the decision made so quickly when before she did not think she could ever cross that perilous threshold. 

She brings her wrist up to her mouth and prepares to bite down and feed the girl. To bring her daughter back to life but - 

It wouldn’t be a life. Not really. 

Rey pauses, staring down at the girl's fluttering eyes and listening to the uneven rhythm of the girl’s heart, and she…

Cannot do it. She _can’t_. 

“I…” Rey trails off, wailing in misery as Isabelle’s eyes close and she slips into unconsciousness. She is going to let her die. She is because she can’t condemn her to the hell that is this half-life. This phony, monstrous existence. 

From behind her, it takes her far longer than it should have to hear the unmistakable sound of clapping.

She half turns, with Isabelle’s limp body in her lap, and finds her kitchen full of unnatural darkness. Like the room has suddenly become a black hole, completely void of light. 

Then she sees eyes glowing at her from within the darkness. 

They are the same eyes that have haunted her sleep for the last five years. The same eyes she sees every time she closes her eyes. The same eyes that stay with her, each and every night no matter the lies she has told herself. 

And they are _green_. 

*

“Hello, Rey. You certainly have been busy, haven’t you my little _lila_?”

Everything inside her feels dead - which should be hilarious because that is the way it has been for a long time. Technically speaking. But she feels dead _all over_ now. In her heart, in her soul, in every fiber of her existence. 

And Kylo’s presence in her home only reaffirms that. 

He emerges from the dark kitchen, his features thrown into sharp relief from the fire in the hearth behind her. He looks the same as he did five years ago. The same mane of raven’s wing hair, the same full and red lips, the same alabaster skin and gigantic stature. He seems to take up the entire room from her perspective on the floor, but then again, he always seems that way to her. Even in her memories. 

The only marked difference from then to now is the scar she gave him.

Like the scars on her hands, his has faded a little and is not the red and angry looking wound she had left him with. Now, the scar is white and fine, neatly dividing the right half of his face just above his eyebrow and down below, where the scar disappears under the high collar of his jacket. 

His gaze flicks between her and the dying girl in her arms and soon he is grinning at her, just the same way he always used to. 

“Where are the others?” she asks dully. Surely wherever he is, they cannot be far behind him. 

“Elsewhere, for now. When I found you, I wanted it to just be the two of us. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that you weren’t alone here, on your little island.” He leans forward, revealing more of himself to her. His grin only widens. “Your hypocrisy really knows no bounds.”

Rey can feel it rising up within her; her hatred of him, her utter loathing and despair that he has found her after all. Now, when she is most vulnerable. Now, when Isabelle is about to die. 

“Ah… you have that look in your eyes.” Kylo places his hands behind his back and walks into the room, pausing to admire one of her paintings of the ocean before turning back to her. His grin becomes that malicious, crooked smirk that she despises almost as much as the vampire himself. “When you called me a monster. When you tried to deny that you are the same as me.”

“We _are_ monsters,” Rey tells him with a flash of anger and then she subsides again, running a bloody hand through Isabelle’s curls. The girl is nearly white with blood loss now, her heartbeat faint. 

A shadow falls over them both. 

She expects many things to happen then; the things she has often had nightmares of, violence and bloody vengeance. So, when he merely crouches down in front of her she blinks back at him in weary surprise. 

“Are you going to let her die, _lila_?”

Kylo is not grinning anymore. He looks - curious, of all things. Rey knows better than to trust anything with this man though. 

“I will not do it.” She does not say that she _can’t_ do it, despite everything in her crying out to save the girl, even if it means turning her into a monster just like her. She can tell that he knows anyway. 

He always does. 

“I’ve been watching you play house, Rey.” He sounds vaguely disgusted when he says this, but she is beginning to sense other things from him too now. Vague emotions of curiosity, of _interest_ , like the concept of family is mildly intriguing to him. 

Which does not go with the image she has of him at all. 

Rey does not bother asking him how long he has known where she has been, or how long he has been watching them. Even though the thought of him spying on her makes her sick to her stomach, such questions are pointless. All she can think of right now is Isabelle. 

He reaches up and runs a finger over the bridge of the girl’s nose. 

Her reaction is immediate. Frenzied with hate and protectiveness. 

“ _Don’t touch her_!” Rey shrieks at him. She lunges forward until their faces are inches apart, mindless of her own safety at this point. 

Not looking perturbed in the least, his hand drops away from the girl. He glances down at the pool of blood with distaste but does not move away. 

“What could I do to her that you have not done already?” 

Rey draws back as though he slapped her. 

“I did not do this! _She_ did!”

“Ah. Still in denial I see. How disappointing.” 

Kylo reaches out before Rey can draw away and cups her cheek in one large hand. She stills in her movements, wanting more than anything to lash out, to rip his fucking throat out. But she cannot let go of Isabelle. The girl’s breaths have gone shallow and rapid between them. 

“What did you think would happen? That you could live in this fantasy forever, playing mother and daughter, until what - the girl grew to be old and died in front of your eyes? Pissing blood into a chamberpot and dying an excruciating mortal death just to ease your fragile conscience. You might as well have given her the scissors and be done with it.”

He is right. Always and forever right. She was just thinking the exact same thoughts not five minutes ago and from the knowing smirk on his face, he knows this just as well as she does. 

But she will never tell him that. She will never give him so much as an inch, not one _fucking_ inch. 

“I fucking hate you,” Rey spits in his face. She curls Isabelle in her arms and tries to draw away from him. “Go away. Let her die in peace. You can… do whatever you want to me after. Just go.”

“We both know I am not going anywhere.”

Then, before Rey can do anything, Kylo rips Isabelle out of her arms and heads toward the back of the house like he knows exactly where he is going. She scrambles to her feet, screaming his name and bawling her eyes out, her face covered in bloody tears. 

“Where the hell are you going with her? Kylo - _stop_!”

He says nothing in reply. He reaches the door to the basement, where she keeps her coffin, and kicks the door open. He heads down into the cellar and she scurries after him, prepared to attack him, to claw his fucking eyes out if she has to. He reaches her coffin and without lifting a finger, the lid flies off of it and lands on the floor with a thud. She experiences his power like a second skin and when he turns to regard her with those darkly emerald eyes and Isabelle cradled in his massive arms, he suddenly looks _furious_. 

Rey skids to a stop a few feet away, covered in her own blood and Isabelle’s as well. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to play my part, darling. Because that's what you want me to do, isn’t it?” 

He places Isabelle in the coffin far more gently than she thought he would and then comes to his full towering height. He stalks across the cellar to her, and she backs away, her stomach churning with a nauseating mixture of dread and hope. Her back hits the wall and then he is there, right in front of her. He pulls her into his arms and she does not resist him because everything is happening too quickly. She can just see the coffin over his shoulders, can just see the pretty blonde of Isabelle’s curls. 

And she closes her eyes in defeat. 

Kylo presses small kisses to her temple and cheek, and then back up into her hair. One hand rests on the small of her back, pressing her close to him, while the other tangles into the burnished auburn of her hair. He speaks lowly, his nose pressed into her temple as he takes a deep, dragging inhale of her scent. 

“Ask me, Rey. Ask me to play the monster.” 

He noses along her forehead and down to her temple again before drawing back just enough to meet her teary eyes. He brushes a thumb under one eye and slowly, purposefully licks the digit clean, his eyes darkening and his voice deepening into a growl. Her hands are plastered to his chest and he takes one in his own, kissing the back of it before turning it over to examine the nasty scar there. 

He runs a finger across the deep grooves the sword left in her palm and then places her hand on the cheek she slashed. Scar to scar. Gathering her close to him, Kylo leans his forehead to hers. 

She closes her eyes, unable to look at him anymore. 

“We are marked for each other now. You ensured that, didn’t you?” he murmurs lowly against her cheek. She does not dare pull away - she does not think she could at this point even if she wanted to. “Ask me,” he rasps, his cold lips brushing against hers. “Ask me to do it and I will.”

Rey feels his scar under her fingers and does the one thing she vowed she would never do. All she can see is Isabelle’s face, full of life and happiness. Her blue eyes, alive with childish glee. Time spent on beaches, watching the ocean waves lap to the shores of Crete, always under that umbrella of darkness. Picnics in the little garden outside their home, nights indoors when the occasional storm would blow in. Holding Isabelle, rocking her to sleep, whispering to her when she had a nightmare that everything was going to be fine because didn’t she promise her that in the beginning?

And she could not break it. Not now, not ever, her scruples be damned. 

And so, Rey whispers to the monster of her nightmares, “Please. Please help her.” 

Kylo makes a soft sound in response and then he kisses her. His lips are achingly soft against hers and she knows what it means even though he does not deepen it. A deal with the devil, signed and sealed in the tender press of their lips. She will pretend later that she does not lean into it, just a little. That he does not make a deep, satisfied sound when she does and that her fingernails do not dig into his jacket. 

But she cannot pretend anymore, not when he pulls away and approaches the coffin. Not when he draws up his sleeve and bites into the flesh of his wrist, nor when he feeds Isabelle his immortal blood. 

After a few seconds, the girl begins to respond, to hold his wrist and drink from him. 

Rey cannot pretend that it is not her decision. That in all but practice, she has turned Isabelle into a creature of the night. 


	14. Changeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where is Isabelle?” Rey grabs Kylo by the lapel of his coat but he only goes on smirking at her. She is two seconds away from the tearing that smarmy look right off his face, when a soft voice calls to her. 
> 
> “Mama.”
> 
> She turns around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we couldn't expect things to transition so easily for our new parents, could we?
> 
> Image One (Parental Disagreements): BoomDaFunk - Tumblr  
> Image Two (Changeling): Artist Unknown
> 
> German Translation:  
> Tochter - daughter

Rey lays on the floor next to the coffin, sullen with defeat, bones anchored with weariness. She is curled in on herself in the hopes Kylo will leave her alone. Guilt makes her too wasted for sleep; blissful slumber is a luxury afforded only to those who have not condemned their children to eternal damnation.

To her great relief, Kylo has taken his rest in the other corner of the cellar, after muttering to himself about the disgusting state of the floor. She waits until he falls asleep, far past the arrival of dawn, and gets to her feet to check on Isabelle. This is the latest she has ever stayed up past sunrise. She can certainly feel it, like lead weights tied to her limbs. Still, she makes herself check, perdition riddling through her exhaustion and headsickness. 

She only opens the coffin a crack, and immediately regrets it. 

Isabelle is white and still. Even the deep scar that runs across her face like a pale river is ghostly white. 

She is clearly dead. 

Rey chokes back a sob as she gently closes the coffin lid. Trembling with grief, she slides to the floor, holding her head in her hands like she might contain her broken heart within the shoddy confines of her grasp.

This is all her fault.

If Isabelle’s transformation takes, then she will become one of them. And _she_ will have caused the one thing she has tried to avoid ever since adopting the girl as her own. 

And if it doesn’t take…

But she can't even let herself contemplate that. Eventually, she calms down, wiping at the new blood staining her cheeks. She has to think about next steps, she has to stay logical and sane if she has any hope of surviving this latest hurdle. Kylo did not just show up here to save Isabelle - why would he care about a girl he was happy to sacrifice just five years ago?

This can only be another lesson of his. She is convinced of it. This is his way of punishing her for running away, for fighting back. For escaping, however temporary it was. No matter what happens when the sun sets today, he is taking her with him. Back to Luke and the others, back to a life of torture and mayhem. If Isabelle transforms, then he will be taking both of them. She cannot even imagine the cruelties they will inflict on the girl, let alone herself. 

Maybe she should just end it now. Rip a whole through the ceiling, let the sun in, and be done with it. 

_You know you’re not really going to do that,_ she thinks to herself. 

Her survival instincts won’t allow it, but that’s not the only reason. 

Isabelle might not be her flesh and blood, but she is her daughter. She can't deprive her a chance at life, even if it not the life she wanted for her. These things she can admit to herself - now, without Kylo’s knowing little smirk aimed at her. She will just have to think of a new plan. She is not the same helpless girl she was five years ago. She can defend herself. 

She just hopes she gets a chance to. 

Rey’s eyes droop and she knows she is about to fall into a stupor whether she wants to or not. She wants to wake before Kylo does, not because she thinks she has any hope of outrunning him, but just so she can make sure he does not tamper with Isabelle. If he went through the trouble of turning her, he likely wouldn’t do anything to harm her further. Probably. She can never be sure with him though.

A deep groan echoes across the cellar.

“My god, _lila_. Get some rest. I can’t sleep with all that racket going on.”

Rey scowls the dark corner she knows him to be resting in. 

“What racket?” she snaps irately. Really, though, she is as startled as she is angry. She was certain he was asleep - but of course, he had to go and prove her wrong about that too.

“ _You_ ,” Kylo replies without missing a beat. “All I can hear is you blithering about in circles. It’s driving me fucking mental.” 

She curls her knees up under chin with a disdainful sniff. She remembers their abhorrent connection all too well. Though she has not attempted to peer into his side of their - _bond_ , for lack of a better word - he has likely taken full advantage already. 

The bastard. 

He sounds like he is shifting around and she tenses up again, scouring the darkness for him. Suddenly, a hand wraps around her elbow and by the time she lets out an enraged hiss, he is already curled around her, laying them both on the floor with his chest and stomach pressed to her back. 

“ _Get off of me_ ,” Rey growls. She does not scream as she wants to, just in case she might awaken Isabelle. 

“I tried letting you rest on your own, but as always, you’ve made things difficult.” He says this like it is her fault. Like it is _her_ fault he is here, upending her life. _Again_. 

“I was about to go to sleep. You don’t need to manhandle me Kylo. We both know how that ended for you last time.”

The threat is out of her mouth before she can take it back.

She tenses, waiting for the inevitable outburst of rage. Surprisingly, all he does is stiffen against her, the only indication that he is affected by her vitriol. After a moment goes by, he repositions and then buries his face in her hair. She huffs and then hisses with outrage when he won't let up. She tries prying his arm off of her and even kicking his shins, but his grip does not loosen. Then, to her furious chargin, her eyelids droop again, like her body has no qualms about who is pressed against her and inhaling her hair like she's made of pure opium. She rails against him and her own fatigue, attempting to dislodge him from her once more.

Kylo sighs and then his mouth is pressed right against her ear. She _hates_ it when he does that, but no amount of elbowing or kicking will dissuade him. His breath, cold and chilling, tickles her ear and then he is speaking, low and sure.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. You and the girl, both."

Rey blinks at the darkness, waiting for him to continue.

He does not disappoint. 

“Your little ruse worked beautifully, by the way. I scoured half the African continent before I realized you had tricked me. Well done, _lila_.” His voice darkens with anger, transforming that deep rasping growl that typically precedes one of his outbursts.

She fidgets against him, thinking _this is it, this is when he snaps and breaks me into a thousand pieces_. The way the last twenty four hours have gone, a part of her might even welcome that. 

“Are you looking for an apology? Because you’ll never get one,” Rey informs him quietly. “Nor will I beg for mercy. Those days are over, Kylo, no matter what happens when the sun rises. I don’t owe you a damned thing.” 

Then, to her further bewilderment, he _laughs._ The sound of his mirth rumbles against her back like a rolling tide. She mutters unhappily under her breath, trying to shift away from him. His grip only tightens and then his lips are against her ear once more. 

“I expected nothing less. Of course, I _also_ do not expect you to be grateful to me for saving your daughter’s life. That would just be the height of impropriety.” 

Before Rey can launch into a furious retort, she is rudely yanked even closer, until there isn’t a breath of space between them. His voice is little more than that deepened growl now. Bestial and teeming with open threat. 

“You only escaped me by pure _luck_. You won’t be so fortunate again, so you might as well accept your circumstances, or things will be very difficult for you.” He presses a soft, infuriating kiss to her cheek and then settles in behind her, holding her so close that she has difficulty moving so much as her fingers. His tone grows into a languid, lazy drawl when he says, “Besides, what do you think happens when a vampire sires a progeny, hm? Do you honestly believe I won’t just find you both again? I have you tied on a string.”

Rey goes rigid in his arms. She had not thought about what would happen when she asked him to do it. All she had been thinking of was saving Isabelle’s life. He had not cared for the girl’s fate at all. He simply used her to meet his own ends. 

How did she think she ever had any hope of outsmarting this creature?

“You _bastard_ ,” Rey seethes at him. 

“Is that what you think of me? I am _heartbroken_!” he exclaims disingenuously. “Whatever little plans you’ve made are pointless. Now, go to sleep. We’ll see what of the girl’s fate later.”

 _And yours,_ he thinks but does not say. 

“I hate you,” she tells him, just so he knows it, just to fucking say it out loud and release some of vitriol swirling in her head. 

“You certainly like to think so.”

After this, neither of them speaks another word. 

When Rey eventually does fall asleep, she dreams not of Isabelle, or islands, or freedom. She dreams of emerald eyes. Of a deep voice whispering against her lips that she cannot hate him, not when they are one and the same. And then he kisses her, stealing her down into that endless darkness. Lips soft and lingering, embrace inescapable. 

Souls entwined. 

*

“Rey. Wake up, darling.”

A large hand settles across almost the entire span of her ribcage and for a long moment, she struggles to pull herself from her slumber. She does not recognize her surroundings, but the voice is familiar. She thought she had left him behind. There, in the flames and chaos of the Manor. Yes, she was about to escape with Isabelle, they were… they…

“ _Isabelle_!” 

Rey sits up, suddenly wide awake and frantic. 

But it is not Isabelle who is there to greet her. Kylo smirks down at her. She does not take his awaiting hand, but rather soars past him to her feet, her hair in disarray and her eyes full of burning amber. 

The coffin is empty. _Empty._

“Where is she?” She grabs him by the lapel of his coat but he only goes on smirking at her. She is two seconds away from the tearing that smarmy look right off his face, when a soft voice calls to her. 

“Mama?”

Rey spins around. 

Some things are the same. Perhaps that is why it is so hard for her to reconcile. Her gaze keeps getting tripped up on those similarities if only to rationalize just how much has changed. The scar remains; fine and jagged, a white mar across even whiter skin. The blonde curls are _almost_ the same; still golden, still voluminous, only now they hold a glimmer and shine that had not been there yesterday. The shape of the eyes, the shape of the lips, the darling apples cheeks - yes, some things are the same. 

But so many other things have changed. 

Where there was a row of neat, white teeth before, yet now a pair of incisors breach the confines of blood-red lips - the exact same shade of red as Kylo’s. The shape of the eyes might not have changed, but the colour has. They are no longer blue - they are a brilliant, gleaming aqua-marine; the colour Rey imagines the Mediterranean would appear under the light of day. Her skin is ghostly white, fingernails long and sharp, the soft bone structure now sharp and defined. 

“Mama?”

There is a hint of plaintiveness; her voice is still light with adolescence, but there is a deeper undertone to it now. A vampiric edge of command that Rey knows, without question, has been inherited by the large hulking form standing in her peripheral. Those strange aqua eyes hold a questioning, a quiver of unease, and despite the fact that she cannot rectify this new image of Isabelle with the girl she has raised for the last five years, she still goes to her. 

Her arms wrap around the girl easily enough, tucking her head under her chin and running her fingers through those beloved curls. She closes her eyes at the relieved sigh Isabelle makes, a lance of guilt spearing right through her. 

“I thought you were mad,” Isabelle whispers into her throat.

Rey imagines she can feel the scrape of her teeth there - a grim reminder that this might be a child in her arms, but that she is now far more than that. 

“No, my love. Never.”

“I… I just wanted us to be together, mama.”

“And so you have your wish, _bella_.” Kylo brushes past them to lean against the cellar door, regarding them both with a crooked smirk lilting his plush lips and crinkling those green eyes with easy mirth. “Rey and I have always wanted a daughter. Haven’t we?”

Rey turns to him with a sullen scowl. He really does love to lay it on thick, doesn’t he?

“Where have you been, then?” Isabelle says, peeking out from under her chin to peer at him.

His smirk softens as he regards her, eyes flitting to Rey briefly with such slyness she would quite like to rip his throat open. 

With a quick perusal of Isabelle’s mind, she finds that she does not recall Kylo at all, nor does she remember much of what happened at the Manor five years ago. They never speak of it, as she has always sensed her need to forget the whole ordeal. For a long time, she has happily avoided the topic. 

She regrets that decision gravely now. 

“Well, _bella_ ,” Kylo begins with feigned thoughtfulness. His folds his lips in consideration and then a wide, easy grin flashes on his face, charming enough to fool even the greatest card players in the land. He looks so painfully handsome then, so earnest with kindness and benevolence, that Rey has to look away from him. It is a sham - she knows this - but it pains her to know what he might have looked like if he had an ounce of humanity left in him. “Your mama and I spent some time apart.” Again, his gaze flits to Rey and in those hated eyes she sees smug amusement. _I’ve got you,_ those eyes tell her. _You cannot get away. I’ve won._ “She went away and I was so heartbroken, I searched the whole world for her."

Isabelle leans away from her to listen, gaze rapt upon him and the easy spell he puts her under. He does not even have to use his abilities. Whatever uneasiness he might have inspired in her upon awakening in that coffin, it is gone now. She is captivated by her Maker. 

As much as that infuriates Rey. 

"But then, I found you both and I knew we must be together. Everything will be alright, _bella._ Your mama will never leave us now. Isn’t that right, Rey?”

Isabelle peered up at her with naked hope, and she just… She is trapped. _Again_. Trapped so utterly and neatly in his dark web. Her daughter is no longer the same little girl who used to read by the fire and hang up all her paintings, but there is enough of her in there that she knows she could never leave her as she had planned to do last night. If Isabelle is to have any hope of retaining even a sliver of her humanity, she will need her by her side. 

Which Kylo knows all too well. 

She glances up at the gloating bastard, a brief glint of rage tinting her eyes amber. He curves a smile in return, inclining his head towards her as if to say _go on, lila, tell her that you will never leave us because it is the truth. I have ensured it._

“Mama?” 

Rey almost winces, but she steadies herself, using the same technique she developed during her time with her hateful siblings. Stowing away her emotions comes back to her with surprising ease. She has a dreadful feeling that she will have to utilize that little skill for a long while to come. It pains her to do so with Isabelle, but Kylo has already begun to manipulate her. He is her Maker after all - she will not hold as much power over the girl as she did before. 

_Isabelle is not stupid. She is just… new to all this. The same way I once was. She will begin to see through his lies and bullshit. For now, I’ll just have to play his little game,_ Rey thinks to herself. _Besides, I escaped him once. I will do it again._

She stares down at Isabelle for a long moment and although it tears her in half to do it, she musters a small smile. 

“I will never leave you, Isabelle. I promise.”

Isabelle beams and throws her arms around her briefly, only to draw away and hug Kylo next. Rey fights very hard not to pull her back, but he sweeps the girl in his arms before she can reach her and buries his hand in her curls. 

“That’s right, Isabelle. We are one - _happy_ \- family.” He winks at Rey over the girl’s head and her smile drops faster than a lead anchor. 

Her eyes glow amber once more, the threat all too implicit between them. She does not say the words out loud. They are not for Isabelle’s ears and she can only pray she has not inherited all of the Skywalkers’ lovely charms. 

_You fiend,_ she sends to him along the thread of their mysterious connection. 

His smirk widens. He pets Isabelle’s head gently, almost lovingly. Rey tenses at the gesture, staring between him and the girl with deep unease.

 _You’ve gotten what you wanted, lila,_ he sends back to her. _Are you not happy?_

Rey’s upper lips curls in a silent snarl. 

_If you hurt you or allow any harm to befall her - if any of the others even looks at her the wrong way - I will do what I did not in the Manor. I will kill each and every one of you until there are no Skywalkers left. I swear it._

And she absolutely means it. 

Kylo folds his lips again and then inclines his head in agreement. 

Isabelle moans unhappily, pulling away from him to clutch at her stomach. It is the hunger. Soon, it will have her in its clutches and she will no longer be coherent. This is a dangerous time for her - she has no intention of allowing him to afford Isabelle the same treatment he gave to her when she was first turned.

She starts forward, all at once unwilling to put herself in closer proximity to him, yet needing to comfort Isabelle. She has not forgotten about their kiss yesterday, despite her best efforts. He has not attempted it again, though she does not doubt that he will. 

He is a tenacious bastard. 

Isabelle cries out in discomfort, keeling over and pressing her hands to her stomach. Aiming one final hide-melting glare in Kylo’s direction, Rey stoops down to rub her shoulders, attempting to soothe an ache she knows all too well will not be sated until she feeds. 

“It _hurts_ ,” Isabelle whines. Her eyes fill with bloody tears and it is just another thing Rey is not prepared to see. Somehow, she pushes away her own misery and places her full attention on the girl. 

“I know, my love.” She gathers her in her arms, easily lifting her off the floor. “It is the hunger, darling. Let me take you outside. There should be some deer nearby to feed on.”

“I have already taken care of our meal.” Kylo meets her furious gaze head-on, without a hint of sheepishness. His expression remains impassive, but she can already see the stubborn glint in his eyes.

“That isn’t necessary. I will show Isabelle how to hunt.”

He blocks her path before she can go up the staircase, his eyes flashing in warning. “I said I have already taken care of it, Rey. Let’s not pass on any of our bad habits to our daughter, shall we? Isabelle is a growing girl. She needs a proper meal.”

“Kylo-” Rey begins a low growl, but suddenly he lunges forward until their faces are mere inches apart, exactly the way she did to him the night before. 

She would like to say she does not flinch from him, that a thrill of familiar fear does not sweep through and temporarily make her speechless. But she does. 

And that is not all. 

Beyond comprehension, she thinks of their kiss again. In a panic, she tries to suppress the memory of his lips against hers; how soft they had been, how plyingly gentle. She tries to forget it, to remember that there is a little girl in her arms who is starving and confused and frightened. Who needs her, here and now. 

But it is too late. Kylo makes a low, pleased sound that she absolutely pretends to ignore. Her stomach drops when she watches the glittering green of his eyes darken. He lifts his chin arrogantly, his jaw shifting and his eyes flitting all over her face. 

“I know, _lila._ I keep thinking about it too _,_ ” he murmurs to her, voice dripping with hushed tenderness and quicksilver cunning. His eyes seem to look right through her, into the heart of her quisling soul. Where he has, astoundingly and mysteriously, begun to carve a tiny, worming sliver of himself into her. A sliver that is now flaring brightly, only it isn’t pain she feels. It is desire, pure and simple. 

The moment he steps towards her, she steps back in hasty retreat. She can feel Isabelle against her, can feel her coarse curls under her chin, but she is not really _aware_ of her or anything else at that moment. This feeling is dangerous, taut and electric. His mind whispers to hers, telling her all the brazen things he would do to her if they were alone right now and…

And how she would _beg_ for it. 

“Maybe after Isabelle has fed -” he begins in a light tone. 

But Isabelle’s name is like an antidote to this strange, galvanizing spell he has her under.

She snaps back to herself - although he has done nothing to influence her feelings or thoughts, and, to her great shame, this dark scourge of desire. It takes more effort than it should to remember all the hatred and spite and resentment she feels for him. That he is a monster and nothing else. 

Rey hisses at him, the sound unnaturally long and sharp. 

Kylo does not quite recoil, but he stops inching towards her all the same. He seems to come back to himself the same moment she does and she might wonder about that later, that he had somehow found himself sucked into this thing that neither of them can control, but for now she only has one concern. 

“Stay _away_ from me and let us upstairs. Isabelle needs to feed, you brute.” As if to emphasize her point, Isabelle releases a pained moan, writhing against her in clear discomfort. This has the sobering effect she needs to rid herself of these traitorous thoughts. 

_Yes - focus on Isabelle right now,_ Rey chides herself. _Stop looking at his mouth, you fool. You hate this monster. Remember?_

“You worry too much, _lila_. That is half of your problem.” 

“I mean it, Kylo. I won’t-”

“Promises, promises,” he interrupts her, sighing like _she_ is the child.

She bristles at him but he does not appear to notice.

Turning on his heel, he starts up the stairs, only pausing long enough to eye her expectantly. “Come along, _lila_. The girl needs to feed and I have created… a compromise.”

Rey rears back in surprise - she had no idea that word was even a part of his vocabulary. After his broad back disappears up the stairs, she is left with no other choice but to follow. Isabelle begins to struggle against her and soon forces that are far beyond the control of either their will take over. 

The hunger, she well knows, is an insatiable beast. 

*

“You call this a compromise?” 

Isabelle gives a fretful wail from the floor of the kitchen, thrashing her head from side to side as Rey fights to restrain her. She cannot allow her to leave the cottage. The girl will flee to god knows where and wreak untold havoc. They have to keep her here.

She inwardly grimaces that there is a “they” at all. She still has half a mind to find a way to kill Kylo, but that will all have to wait until later. 

“Yes, _lila_. Despite what you may think, I am aware of the word and its meaning.”

_Bastard._

She growls at him, looking from him to the unconscious form of a young woman lying across her kitchen table - until suddenly, Isabelle bucks _hard_. She almost loses her grip of her, her fingernails digging into precious skin in an attempt to keep the girl restrained. 

“A little help, please?” she shouts at Kylo. 

He laughs, like this is a mildly amusing tableau made for his enjoyment, but nonetheless stoops down from his imposing height to help hold Isabelle down. He seems to need far less energy than Rey to accomplish this; he only needs to use one hand to push her down to the floor. 

“I do not want her feeding on humans, Kylo." Rey glares at him when he makes a sound of incredulity. She fusses over Isabelle’s hair and rubs a soothing hand over her forehead. “You know how I feel about this. If we are to _raise her together_ , as you so eloquently put it, then you will obey my wishes.”

“Even if the human is sickly and half-dead?”

When Isabelle begins clawing at his hands, he raises an eyebrow at her. She is tempted to let the girl have it, but after a disgruntled sigh, she grasps her arms and holds them down. She takes a moment to regard Kylo warily, not quite willing to concede this to him, and yet… Isabelle is in a desperate situation. She remembers what this was like - the fear and confusion, the anguish and pain of a hunger unlike anything else she had ever experienced. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I visited the neighbours while you slept. Don’t look at me like that, Rey - that’s what you get for staying up all the livelong day, worrying like a hen.” He quirks another smirk at her, but it is distracted. Isabelle’s struggling is only growing worse with each passing second. He grunts when the girl attempts to lunge to the side, only to push her back down. “Their maid is quite ill - and before you ask, I read her thoughts. She has been spitting up blood for almost a year. Buries the bloody rags at the back of the property so her employers don’t fire her and kick her off the land.”

“But-” Rey tries weakly.

Suddenly, Isabelle’s eyes are _burning_ in their sockets, a blistering shade of orange creeping into the blue-green irises. She has a brief instant to wonder if this was how she looked too, in the beginning. Crazed, beastly. Monstrous. 

But then Kylo leans towards her, invading her personal space for the umpteenth time in just the last twenty-four hours.

“We don’t have time to debate this right now. She is a vampire and she will feed like one.”

“Where is the compromise in that?” Rey demands, huffing when Isabelle screeches so loudly, the windows rattle with it. 

“The maid will die anyway. What does it matter!” He shakes his head at her in vague disgust. “Now, shall we talk this over some more until the girl escapes and kills everyone on this wretched island, or will you let me handle this?”

They glare at each other for one hot moment, locked together in mutual hatred. Then, with an aggravated growl, she spits out, “ _Fine_ , it’s your way again, just like it always is."

“Oh, if things had gone my way, my love, your situation would be very different right now. But alas, here we are.” He grins malevolently at her, all the fury of the last five years packed into that look. 

Rey almost flinches away from him, knowing all too well what he is capable of when he flies into a rage, but he is already drawing away, with a writhing and snarling Isabelle in his arms. It is almost too painful to watch. She knows this feeling - but that does not make it any easier to see how much things have changed already. 

Isabelle is well and truly one of them. 

Kylo crosses to the table, effortlessly hefting the girl with him. When they reach the unconscious woman, he does not give her the chance to do anything. He grabs her by the nape, her curls twisted in his fist, and lowers his head so he is speaking in her ear. 

Rey flies to her feet with a protective growl, but the look he gives her is quelling. She hesitates, watching and wary. If he hurts her…

“Isabelle,” he says firmly. 

When the girl screeches and tries to reach for the woman, he snaps her head back. A long, _loud_ snarl echoes across the room. Rey realizes a second later that it was Kylo who made this sound.

It has the desired effect.

Isabelle goes still, her eyes flitting all over the room, unseeing with her hunger. 

Despite herself, Rey can only watch with growing fascination. She has never heard him make this sound - but she _has_ heard it before. From Luke. The first night she came to live with the Skywalkers, when Mitaka attempted to accost her, he had made the very same sound. And the others had listened. Without question, or protest. A silent command, like a parent reprimanding their child. 

The warning growl of a Maker. 

“ _Isabelle_ ,” Kylo repeats, only now his voice is little more than a stern growl.

Even Rey perks up, though he holds no real power over her. He is the oldest thing in this room; there is an ancient decree to that tone. She wonders if it is because of who he is and who he _was;_ a king, in his time.

 _Listen. Wait,_ that power seems to command. 

And Isabelle does listen, as impossible as that should be. When Rey thinks of her own turning, Luke had just _let_ her run away that first night, tearing into those three men in that barn. He had done nothing to soothe her, or prepare her for what was to come. What she is seeing now, as much as it pains her to admit it, is what a Maker is _supposed_ to be to their newborn vampire.

Does Kylo just know to do this, or has he turned others before? She suddenly has so many questions, but they are not important now. Not with Isabelle in this state. 

“You will stay _calm_ , my _tochter_. This woman offers her life to you; she is food, but we must treat her gently. Mortals are fragile creatures and so we must be merciful.” The raven’s wing of his hair seems to absorb the firelight, the waves hiding his face from Rey’s view so that all she can see is a hint of his jaw and the plush pillows of his lips. He then whispers to Isabelle, “Nod your head if you understand.”

Slowly, to Rey’s astonishment, Isabelle nods her head. 

God - if Luke had only done this with her in the beginning, things would have been easier. Not better - this life is and will always be a version of hell - but the beginning might not have been so perilous, so terrifying and violent. 

Which leads her, of all things, to a distant memory. 

Kylo tried to do this with her. She remembers now. In the tavern, in Paris, the bar wench from Morocco… He had told her something very similar that night. To be gentle, to treat them well. Of course, he went on to commit grave atrocities after that night; all of his little lessons against her. She has seen him in his height of cruelty. Depravity. Savagery. 

But now, to see this. It is almost as though there is another side to him, though such a thing has never occurred to her before. This observation leaves her feeling disjointed. Suspicious, as always, but also… Uncertain. 

“Very good,” Kylo rumbles. He withdraws but does not relinquish his hold on her. He lets go of her arm and grips her shoulder. And Isabelle appears - calmer. Not entirely cognizant, but at least not crazed, as she had been mere seconds ago. 

He lifts her to the table, so she is sitting next to the woman. 

Rey watches, tense and unhappy but with the smallest of reassurances that the woman is not well, nor will she be awake for this. She can sense the malignancy in the woman’s lungs, a vile tumour that will take her life within the next six months. Just as he told her. 

At least he had not lied about that. 

“Now, _bella_. Take her wrist. You will feel the heartbeat there. It is important that you stop right before the moment of her death, lest she takes you down that black rabbit hole too. You will know when you feel it.” 

Dreamily, Isabelle lifts the woman’s wrist and brings it to her lips. She glances at Kylo once for confirmation.

He nods at her encouragingly.

Then, before Rey’s eyes, Isabelle well and truly commits to the life she never wanted for her. Her teeth prick the woman’s skin, stealing the woman’s lifeforce out of her with small, slurping noises. She looks away to find Kylo regarding her from Isabelle’s side. He pets their daughter’s hair softly, as he did in the cellar. 

_This is the way_ , he tells her softly, through the thread connecting their minds. 

Rey looks away and does not answer him. 


	15. Strange Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo was already in the middle of walking away from her when he suddenly stops and slams his hand into the wall hard enough to dent it. Then, he spins on his heel, stalking back to her with the light of hell in his eyes. The old fright returns for just an instant. Those eyes, those fucking eyes. They still haunt her dreams. Dreams she cannot fully recall upon waking. 
> 
> Dreams that she is happy to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated this chapter!!! I liked it before but I wanted to demonstrate how Rey and Kylo are on more equal footing this time around... and added in a little more romantic tension for ya'll. Working on the next update meow! :) 
> 
> Warning for unwanted touching. 
> 
> I am watching The Hotel season of American Horror Story and it really got me in a vampire kind of mood. :D So here is another update for ya'll!
> 
> Happy Halloween week!
> 
> Image: Star Wars The Force Awakens

“And were you?”

“Were we what?”

“A happy family?”

Rey utters a hollow laugh.

“The shit of it all is that we were… eventually.”

Poe nods like he understands. Like he has any idea what it feels like to raise a girl, decade after decade. When the years stretch into infinity and kinship grows into an eternal loom. Hearts, minds, opinions, thoughts, ideas - all of them interweaved and connected all over. No story new, no memory unknown. Everything shared. 

And that is without accounting for the presence of Kylo in their lives.

For five short years, she was rid of him. She remembers how she felt at the time - like that small reprieve had been an eternity in her own version of paradise. But it had only been a blip. A blink and then gone, like some forgotten town on an old country road. 

“Did Kylo keep his word? Did he keep Isabelle safe?” 

Rey realizes she has disappeared within herself again. She has found herself doing this a lot tonight, much to her own chagrin. Trailing off onto errant roads in her mind, which all lead back to one place. 

“He tried to. In his own way.”

Poe’s smile vanishes. 

About that matter, Rey will speak no more for now. He is sharp though and she knows before the thought flits across his mind that he has correctly guessed the answer to that question anyway. 

*

They leave Crete the next night. 

Rey watches the island grow smaller and smaller as they sail further southeast to the Suez Canal and the great African continent. Her heart breaks all over again; for her, for Isabelle, and for the brief glimmer of their stolen time together under the Mediterranean moon. She silently bids the island farewell and turns away from it before the tears can fall. 

She will mourn later. Now, she has far more pressing matters. 

From the moment Kylo showed up in her kitchen, she had already guessed he would not let them stay on Crete. The island is far too modest for his ferocious tastes. He only let them pack their clothes and a few other personal effects, rushing them around the tiny cottage as though he was in a great hurry to leave. They had two trunks between the three of them and that was all. Rey left behind all her art supplies and almost all her paintings. 

She checked on the ones she hid in the attic before they left. Hidden, from Isabelle’s eyes, but most importantly from Kylo’s as well. Those paintings, as strange, horrifying and unknown as they are, should never again see the light of day. 

There was, however, one thing she fruitlessly searched for. 

No matter where Rey looked, she could not find the necklace Isabelle made for her. The girl has not mentioned it since the night she… was changed. But she doesn’t have to. She sees the way she looks at her neck, where the necklace should be hanging. She sees the vague hurt in her eyes, only to be quickly replaced by consuming hunger. 

Isabelle is insatiable. Perhaps more so than she was at the beginning. 

“Do you really think it is wise to travel in her condition?” 

Together, Kylo and Rey stand at the stern of the ship, watching as Isabelle races along the starboard side, chasing her own shadow. The sailors have already been glamoured to leave them alone and Rey has already seen to it that there is a reliable rat population on board for herself. Maybe, soon, she can convince Isabelle to make the switch.

They have been given two small cabins in the bowels of the ship. No windows, no questions asked. And if a few sailors go missing throughout the voyage, then Kylo will ensure they are not missed.

“I think we’ll linger on the African continent. After all, you were so clever with your little lie, you might as well enjoy the real experience.”

He flashes a smirk at her, but she is beginning to recognize when there is little behind it. Distracted, ill-tempered - he has been like this ever since they packed up the cottage and headed down to port. 

If Rey did not know him better, she would think him anxious. 

“That didn’t answer my question.”

She meets his aggravated glare with supreme indifference. If he thinks things are going to go the way they did before, he is sorely mistaken. Rose and the others might simper and grovel at his feet, but she never will. 

Kylo sighs. His grip on the thin wooden railing is so tight, she can almost hear the wood splinter. His tone is waspish, his trademark smirk gone. 

“Our daughter will need to feed no matter if we had remained in that little hovel of yours, or if we’re on the sea. At least here she is contained.” 

_That was my home, you bastard,_ she thinks but does not say. 

He scoffs at her anyways, overhearing her thoughts perfectly well. 

“I will find us much better accommodations. Your little cottage reeked of seawater and mud. Furthermore,” he says loudly, when she shows all signs of interrupting him, “I have business to attend to overseas.”

Rey raises an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Do you know how to steer a ship? Because I don’t.”

He releases an aggravated sigh, and pushes off the railing to walk away from her. She follows after him, hitching up her skirts and matching his pace. 

“Well? Do you?” 

He suddenly whirls around, one long finger pointed in her face. “I don’t know what you’re on about now, but I’ve had just about enough of it. It's been non-stop since you woke up.”

Rey smiles sweetly at him, though the hatred in her eyes is palpable. She can’t believe she let him kiss her, that she actually _enjoyed_ it, even if it was only for a second. He’s the epitome of insufferable. 

“What happens when she drains everyone on this ship? Do we just hope we will float to a port, or do you suddenly have the ability to man an entire vessel? Because I’m certainly not going to lift a finger to help you if you two eviscerate the entire crew.” 

Kylo gives her a withering look and resumes walking away, his dark hair rippling in the wind and boots clicking against the wood of the deck. She does not know if he has experience with ships. For all she knows, he very well could, but that doesn’t stop her from badgering him. Waiting on tenterhooks for the inevitable showdown with the rest of the Skywalker Clan is not exactly cause for her to be in a rosy mood. 

“Were you always this much of a righteous nag, or did you develop the talent while you were away from me?” Kylo barks at her over his shoulder. 

God, she could just about kill him right now. Tear a hole into his cabin as he sleeps, let the sunlight pour in and… Kill herself too, more than likely. She knows she wouldn’t do it, not only for her own sake, but for Isabelle’s as well. A young vampire out in the world alone will not last long without human scrutiny. 

Oh, but it is tempting. 

This time, Rey lets him walk away, glaring daggers at his swarmy, arrogant back. She really hates him. Truly and deeply, with all the conviction in her heart. 

Isabelle dashes past her, making shrill whooping sounds like a crane, oblivious to their feverish bickering.

“Look at me, mama! I’m a bird!” 

She offers her a weak smile, but she is already thinking about their next escape. It will have to be soon. She watches as Kylo disappears into the doorway leading to inner decks of the ship, how he has to stoop due to his massive height. 

She doesn’t know if she will survive him this time. 

*

“I don’t _want_ to sleep alone.”

“I know, my love. You will get used to it, as I did.”

"What is the difference between you laying on the floor or in bed with me?"

Isabelle stands in front of her cot, eyeing the mattress morosely. Dawn will arrive soon and it will not do for her to be awake - not when she is so new. Rey can clearly see the way her eyelids droop. Though she is putting up a fight now, she will likely pass out very soon. 

“Lay down, love.” She pats the bed but Isabelle shakes her head, crossing her arms in a familiar gesture of stubbornness. She is acting rather like a child right now, which is completely out of character for her. It is as though she has regressed in the last forty-eight hours, back to the age at which she first took her under her care. 

"Isabelle, please."

“I said _no_!” 

Rey winces from her shrill shriek. 

Baffled by the girl’s sudden infantilizing behaviour, she goes to grasp Isabelle’s wrist to pull her in the bed, resigned to the fact that she will likely have to find a way to cram them both on the mattress. She had been planning to sleep on the floor, to give her enough security that she is right there if she needs her, but to try and give her confidence as well that she can sleep on her own. 

But Isabelle isn’t having it. This is worse than when they first moved to Crete and she had to fight with her to observe a normal, human sleep schedule. 

A tall shadow appears in her peripheral. The angry, petulant look on Isabelle's face vanishes so fast, it's like a magic trick. 

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight, darling?”

Rey’s head snaps to the side just in time to see Kylo leaning on the doorframe with all the nonchalance of a cocky scoundrel. Because that is exactly what he is - a nasty, dangerous scoundrel who is apparently hell bent on ruining her life for - let’s see - the next _eternity_. 

She barely conceals an aggravated growl. 

“Isabelle is going to sleep right here, in her own bed. She’s not a child anymore and -”

“Oh, can’t I mama?” Isabelle cuts in eagerly. 

“Yes, _lila_. Can’t she?” 

His smile is wide now and stretched across the plains of his damnable face. She wishes he was ugly. It would make it easier to find all the flaws within him, though she doubts he gives a toss about his looks. He knows how beautiful he is and he knows exactly how to use that to his advantage.

“Please mama?” Isabelle bats those wide blue doll’s eyes at her and... Rey has a hard time saying no to her as it is and based on the challenging glint in Kylo’s eyes, she knows this is not a fight she is going to win tonight. He won’t hurt the girl - that much she knows. Isabelle is a tool to him just as much of everyone and everything else. 

Not that she trusts him, even one iota. 

Kylo is always biding his time, watching and waiting for her moments of weakness. 

Rey rises to her feet with a calmness she has only just decided on. He stiffens when she gets up, like he isn’t expecting it, but she does not look his way at all. She leans down to cluck under Isabelle’s chin - an old game they play to make her smile. 

“Alright, my love. _But_ ,” Rey says sharply before Isabelle can run into his arms, “Tomorrow night, you sleep in your own bed. In this room.”

“Yes mama,” Isabelle replies solemnly. Then she leaps onto Kylo, giggling happily. 

Rey suppresses a sullen glare when she meets his eyes. They already had to glamour two sailors in order to feed the girl. Kylo, of course, had not appeared to care in the least that she needed so much blood, but she is worried. Just because they are able to use their powers to trick the humans does not mean these disappearances will go unnoticed. They need to be careful, though she is damned if she can figure out how to convince him of this. 

“Goodnight, _lila,_ ” Kylo rumbles at her smugly. "Get some rest."

Rey stares at him for a moment without saying a word, before smiling at Isabelle and kissing her goodnight. She closes the door when they leave and leans against it. Why would he care where Isabelle sleeps? Why insert himself at all, if…

She hisses through her teeth. 

He did it on purpose. He doesn’t care if Isabelle gives her a hard time. He certainly doesn’t care if the girl is afraid to sleep alone. 

Rather, he is using Isabelle as a shield. 

He overheard her earlier, when she was thinking about sabotaging his cabin. She was not actually going to _do_ it. She just thought about it a little. She _might_ have even fantasized about the surprised look that would have come across his face while he burned to a crisp. She doesn’t even know how the sun affects them, exactly. If they just light up like dried timber to a flame, or if it is a slow burn, where they have time to potentially escape. It wasn’t even a real plan, just a passing thought. 

But the smug bastard had heard it anyway and acted against her. 

He knows she can endure staying awake for at least a part of the day. If he falls into a deep slumber, she can easily go into his cabin and tamper with the walls. Leave the sun to do the rest. _But_ if Isabelle is in there with him, she would never risk it. 

She is beginning to understand him more than she ever wanted to. He is always one step ahead of her, always predicting when she will go left so that he can turn right. She needs to get better at this. Perhaps she will do a little watching and waiting of her own. But not for too long… She remembers the others’ vindictiveness all too well. Particularly Rose. Wherever he is taking them, the others will very likely be waiting. 

Rey turns to the small cot with a weary sigh and starts to undress. Today, she will have a full rest and then she will begin her vigil. There has to be a crack in his armor somewhere and she intends to find out exactly where it is. 

*

Kylo brings Isabelle to his room to rest every single night for the next four days. 

Rey does not put up much of a fuss, despite her stern words on the first night. If he wants to play his little games, he can be her guest. She is too busy observing him anyway, watching the way he hunts, the way he interacts with the sailors, even the way he blinks. 

And the easy way he hoodwinks her daughter. 

“Listen to their thoughts, _tochter._ Tell me what you see." 

They are lingering on the upper deck, watching the captain bark orders at his crew. The sea is choppy, whitecaps bursting apart along the hull of the ship. 

Rey watches them stalk the men, leaning against one of the masts with a troubled look on her face. All she can think is the night he forced her to go to Lady Irmele’s apartment, the night he played one of his little games with her. So much like the game he is playing with Isabelle now. 

_Ah, you can see them too. All those little colours in their silly little heads._

Rey shivers at the memory. 

“I… I can’t hear them.” Isabelle sounds frightened and sheepish.

Frightened to disappoint Kylo. Her Maker, her mentor, her... father. 

Just the very thought of that word in relation to him makes Rey want to retch. 

“That’s alright, darling. The dark gift is different for all of us.”

The look he aims at Rey then is both arrogant and furtive. 

Her upper lip curls with disdain. 

*

She is not ready to call Isabelle _theirs_.

She doubts she ever will be, despite Kylo's insistence on it. Instead, she keeps quiet when he tries to nettle her. All his smirks, smugness and sarcastic little comments are met with stony silence. The only thing that she cares about is her and Isabelle’s safety. She wouldn’t trust him with a maggot, let alone the livelihood of the only thing she truly cares about in this vile world. 

It is up to her to keep them safe. 

Isabelle goes on, blissfully unaware of the duel of wills happening before her. She spends her evenings running across the ship, she feeds ferociously even though Rey is trying to wean her down. Kylo teaches her how to hunt, how to fly, and how to do all the things that Rey’s own Maker never bothered to teach her. She might resent him for it more if she was not so preoccupied in looking for a weakness in him.

He seems to catch her staring at him, a small, knowing smirk twisting his lips each time, but whenever this happens she attempts to throw him off the trail. Insults. Pestering questions about where they're going. Attacks on his character. Everything she can think of to distract him.

She has no idea if it is working, only that her "endless nagging" is finally getting to him. Isabelle, thankfully, is reading in their cabin. They are outside in the adjacent corridor, arguing as usual. Though, for Rey, this argument is a farce. Mostly, anyway. She cares to know where they are going - yes - but she is more concerned with avoiding his suspicion. She has taken to skulking the lower decks when he is busy teaching Isabelle about the ways of their kind, searching for possible weapons to use against him when the time comes. 

Silver would be best, but she has not found any. This ship’s cargo contains wheat and other mortal consumables. There are no valuables on board, not so much as a candlestick. 

And right about now, she would love something to bash him upside the head with. 

“You are driving me _insane_ , Rey. I have answered this question a thousand times and my answer has not changed!”

“You _will_ tell me where we are going. I have every right to know what kind of snake’s nest we are walking into, especially if your lovely sister is going to be there.”

They both know of whom she speaks so she does not bother clarifying. 

He scoffs. “Rose is your sister too, _lila_.”

“Save your breath. She is a scornful cretin who would sooner slit my throat than call me kin. Do me a favour and don’t insult my intelligence. Or yours.”

Kylo was already in the middle of walking away from her when he suddenly stops and slams his hand into the wall hard enough to dent it. Then, he spins on his heel, stalking back to her with the light of hell in his eyes. The old fright returns for just an instant. Those eyes, those _fucking_ eyes. They haunt her dreams. Dreams she cannot fully recall upon waking. 

Dreams that she is happy to forget. 

In one moment, Kylo is on the other side of the corridor, and in the next, she has been slammed against the wall behind her. His hand engulfs her entire jaw and then his nose is pressed against her jugular. No blood pumps through there, of course. 

But it is not her blood he is after. 

He smells her skin, inhaling deeply. A low, ominous rumble resounds up his chest and she squirms against him at the feeling, attempting to tear herself away from him. She _loathes_ it when he does this, stealing all the space and air around them with his absurdly overwhelming presence. 

Forcing his will upon her. His very _scent_. 

"I'll scream." Her own eyes glow feverish amber, full of rage and spite. 

He smirks at her though there is little mirth behind it. 

"Then you won't have to worry about our daughter draining the crew. I'll rip their fucking throats out and have you bathing in their entrails." He makes a sharp angry sound, his grip tightening to the point of crushing and his fangs bared at her. "Threaten me again, my love, and I will make good on that promise."

Rey looks directly into those terrible emerald eyes with as much loathing as she can muster. 

" _Fuck you_."

To her surprise, he chuckles lowly at her. 

And then - before she has time to blink - he kisses her. Only this time is so much different than the first. She screeches into his mouth, her arms and legs banging off the wall as she attempts to push him off of her. His teeth prick her lips and then he is angling her head how he wants, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and groaning deep in his chest. She hisses and claws at his arms, but he's so much bigger than her that it takes him little effort to pin her to the wall. 

He knows better than to try and put his tongue in her mouth, but he does not relent either. His lips pull at hers, in a harsh and torrid rhythm that makes her struggles weaken and her hisses stop. 

She doesn't _want_ to kiss him. She _wants_ to tear his face off. But anger and lust tangle together until she doesn't know if she would rather kill him or fuck him. Before she can think not to, she is responding to him, her eyes closed and screwed up with equal parts anger and desperation. He tastes sweet in her mouth. Like honey and vanilla, with the smallest traces of cinnamon and oak...

Then, when he draws away only far enough to whisper a Vandalic encourage against her lips, sanity somehow reassert itself. 

She bites him. 

Copper explodes into her mouth and she slackens against him for an entirely new reason. His blood is like nothing she has ever tasted before. It is only a droplet or two, but before she can chase after it, he makes a surprised sounds and draws away. She does not know the look on his face. That he is - impressed? angry? - but it is gone before she can examine it longer. He smirks again, his eyes so dark they're almost black. She is panting back at him, wanting to be indignant and furious, but only coming away cloudy and blank. His _blood_... 

He draws his bleeding lip into his mouth with a wry smirk, sucking the blood away. When his lip pops out with a tiny wet sound, the small wound healing right before her eyes, she makes the smallest noise. Not quite a whimper. Almost a moan.

"Do you want more, _lila_?" Kylo rasps at her, peering at her from the tops of his eyes.

Rey snaps out of the spell, emotions roaring back into the anger she so desperately wants to cling to.

"You absolute _bastard_ ," she hisses at him. "If you touch me again, I swear to God I will kill you. _Let me go_!"

In the hallway, the candles flicker even though there is no draft. She can feel it again, rising up inside her. A great tsunami of unspeakable power that she has only ever felt once before. The air snaps with electricity and she bares her teeth at him, her skin feeling so hot, she might burst into flames. 

“No, Rey. I don't think I will." He nods at her furious snarl, not quite grinning but close to it. " _That's_ it. Your anger, your power - I can feel it. It is these moments that I truly treasure. When we've pushed each other right to the edge.”

She hisses through her teeth when he presses a lingering kiss to her throat, his chest rumbling with what very much sounds like a purr. She smacks at his shoulders, but she might as well be smacking a bear away from her, for all the good it will do her.

“Hush, my love. I can hear you, panicking like a little bird caught in a cage. Don't be afraid of what you are.”

His hand slides up the side of her face and then there are fingers tapping against her temple. 

Rey stiffens against him. 

“Get out. Of my _head,_ ” she seethes in a low growl. 

“Mmmmmm, but it’s so nice in here, Rey. So soft and warm, and ripe. Just like you.” He chuckles lowly when she growls at him, fingernails digging into his skin, only for the flesh to heal. He does not make a sound of pain, like she is as inconsequential to him as a mosquito to a giant. 

Then, in a gesture that is slow with threat and arrogance, he slides his nose up her neck, along her jaw, over her chin and lips, until their eyes are level with one another. His are almost black, they have gone so dark. She can see her own eyes reflected back to her in his, twin glowing embers of deepest gold. She can feel him rooting around in there, overturning her thoughts like furniture in a room, rifling through all her emotions. It has been a long time since she has even allowed herself to acknowledge the tether between them. She finds it now, a fine golden thread that she can almost envision as something tangible and visible. 

Rey seizes it, and for one terrifying instant, she is in his head. 

Kylo does not seem surprised at all, unlike the first time she managed to do this. Rather, he seems expectant and… _eager_. She can sense that eagerness now, as black as pitch. She tumbles through his head, not seeing precise memories exactly, but sensing his emotions like they are her own. Rage soars to the forefront. All those months and months he scoured the globe for her. She sees palm trees and crystalline waters. She sees strange structures that appear like triangles to her, strutting up from the sandy ground. She sees tangled jungles of purest green, snowy mountain peaks, but then the images blur together and it is not long before she experiences a new emotion from him. 

She remembers the first time she sensed lust in their kind.

She was in a brothel, not long after being turned. Rose sat one side of her and Kylo on the other, teasing and flirting with each other. Lust, she recalls, is pink. Dusky, like faded roses. Vague with longing and saturated in sexual desire, like pulleys tugging on some deep, burning need right below her stomach. 

There are no words for what he is feeling now. 

His emotions become muddled and chaotic, filled with deepest crimson and… Strands of pure gold. Frustration, fury, hatred - they all bleed together with other emotions she does not want to recognize, but now that she is here, so deeply rooted in his mind, he will not let her go. He has caged her in; that lost, screaming little bird. His flower, clutched in his victorious fist. His thoughts are shot through with cables of dark, gluttonous wanting, grudging admiration, and something else - some deep-rooted desperation, a consuming necessity to possess, to control, to tame but at the same time scorching with the revelry that he _cannot_ possess, he cannot control or tame. That he has found something he has long and long searched for. Starved for it, reaching and biting and snarling through all that crimson need. His emotions are a kaleidoscope of filth and deep gnawing thirst for which no amount of blood can quench. 

Someone is gasping for air. Someone is shaking, on the precipice of tears. Choked up and making small, pitiful sounds. The sensation of touch returns first. Cool fingertips swipe across her face with unerring gentleness. An arm is curled around her back, cradling her to a large solidness that she can barely make out. She is still trapped in there, with him, but bit by bit she is finding her way out. 

“Shhhh, I know. I got carried away, _lila_. It’s just been so long… but I can wait.” His voice whispers in her ear, and there are lips, pressing soft kisses in her hair. The words quickly switch over to ancient German. “ _One day, my love, there will be no quarrelling anymore. Hush, don’t cry._ ”

That is when Rey realizes that is it _her_ uselessly gasping for air. That is it _her_ shaking. _Her_ making those small, wounded noises. 

And it is Kylo who is comforting her. 

Out of the corner of her eye, one of the crewmen enters the corridor, but all it takes is a low hiss from Kylo and the smallest press of his will, and the man turns right back around and leaves. She does not attempt to pull away from him. She is barely aware of where she is, or even _who_ she is to begin to resist him right now. 

He goes on holding her and she can tell that his anger has all but evaporated. 

“Now, my love. Will you stop hiding away in the bowels of this ship? Isabelle misses you, you know. And… I think you have thoroughly canvassed the cargo enough to know that there is nothing you can use against me here.”

Rey goes still against him. 

She can tell that he is smiling before he draws away so she can see his face. He clucks her under her chin, the same way she does with Isabelle, and then presses a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose. She stares up at him in abject misery and anger, but he does not appear perturbed in the least. 

He leans in close to whisper against her cheek, “How many times have I told you, Rey? We are one and the same.”


	16. Shiver to a Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She squints at him cautiously, forgetting about her strange little fascination about the differences in his appearance when she sees just how exhausted he looks. Despite the trademark smirk and glittering green eyes, he looks just as worn out as she feels. Pale, drawn. Eyes bloodshot. 
> 
> With far less bite than she intends, she murmurs, “What do you want?”
> 
> “To talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied in my last chapter notes. We are not meeting new characters - yet. But we will next chapter. Just had some plot to flesh out between our main characters. 
> 
> Had a lot of fun writing this chapter for no particular reason lol. Just love vamps. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't already, I updated the previous chapter with some new content so I definitely recommend giving that a re-read when you can! Not a practice I plan on making a habit, but just really needed to added some more context for this chap :)
> 
> Enjoy yo tension, folks! <3
> 
> Image One: Voodoo Val  
> Image Two: little chmura

****

Dreams are ripples in the mind. The brain’s way of straining away all the meaningless and mundane experiences of the day, to make room for the next, like ants sifting through crumbs. 

At least, that is the way it is for mortals. 

For Rey, dreams have become something entirely different. Moving shadows in still corners. Guttural whispers under beds, within closets. Howling winds and watchful eyes in the darkness.

For her, dreams are no more a ripple of the mind than a tsunami is to a vulnerable shoreline. She senses an endlessness about these dreams, presences flitting in and out perception. Nonsensical murmurings that have the flavour of prophecy. Of legend. They hold no substance upon waking, as sand through fingers. 

Only now, she is starting to remember. 

*

The air is cold here. Damp with moisture. Stinging strong with salt. A vague scent of fishiness permeates in the chill. 

She has not felt the temperature of the air for a long time. The sensation is strange. Foreign. She wonders if this means her humanity has completely left her. She wonders if that is such a bad thing. 

She goes on in the darkness for a long time. Alone, stumbling on the rocky, uneven surface below her feet. She can fly - she suspects that is how she got here in the first place, but that power has left her now. Fear is like ink in water - vague and without reach, yet tainting her all the same. Behind her, like a brush of fingers through hair, she feels him before she sees him. She turns around and though there is a lance of fear, keen and sharp, she finds she does not want to flee just yet. 

Black cloth covers half of his face. Translucent. Features still visible, if only barely. Lips pushing through fine silk, an impression of distant amusement and mocking disdain. A long, proud nose curves out, framed by arched cheeks. Sharp enough to cut glass. 

It is the eyes, though, that draw the most attention. That haunt her. 

Eyes are the gateway to the soul. At least, that was what mama always told her. Eyes can tell you a story about a person; the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve suffered and endured. The steps they have taken on their own unique pathway in life. The mistakes they’ve made and the consequences they have sowed. You can see it in the lines around the eyes and mouth, can see how easy joy comes to them, or how seldom. You can feel their sturdiness in their hands; in the rough, sandstone texture of their skin. Or their fragility in their softness. Their skittishness with the boundaries around them. 

But the eyes tell the full story. Whether they are flat, assessing, crude and mocking, or filled with warmth and radiance - you will know who it is you are facing. You just have to look. 

His eyes speak of agelessness, of gods and titans. Men are beneath him, with their simplistic mortal coils. Those eyes tell her that he knows exactly what she is about to do and what he will do to her in turn. It is not a plan - it is pure animal instinct. Those eyes see everything and everyone. The weak are dismissed as prey. His eyes tell her that there is only inevitability with eternity. He knows it well enough by now and she ought to, as well. Those eyes whisper at her, low and sure, that she is just like him. The same dark creature, slithering through the night like a specter, the same instrument of destruction, chaos, and power. The very same. 

Then, the dream changes. 

She is herself, yet at the same time not at all. She sees things as through a lens, moving with the natural progression of footsteps. Of movement. 

There is a beach. There is an ocean, though she does not know which one. There is a bonfire, glimmering nearby. A woman sings, off-key yet somehow still very beautiful. She has dark brown eyes, strands of pure white shot through black hair. She sings in a foreign language, yet the closer she gets to her, the more clearly she understands. 

_My love is away, through the mountains, they hunt for the wildcats, they fall under a shadow..._

She stops in her progress to watch the woman, the tepid wind blowing through her hair. She pauses to look down at her hands, but the appendages are unfamiliar. Fingers are thick, long. Cunning. Hands wide enough to cover her entire face. A dark smattering of hair on the back of the wrists and up the arms. 

Dizzy with recognition, she looks away from these hands for the time being. They are not hers. She is certain of this, but she turns away from that fact. Hiding, as always, behind veiled mirrors. 

Besides, she is far too captivated with the woman’s voice. Melodic, cracking with emotion. Untrained, yet raw and full of potential. She felt like that, once. So full of life and vitality. A commander of a great army, just on the threshold of greatness. 

But then he stole it all away. He, with his yellow eyes and his empty promises. The great bear, the legendary Luke Skywalker. Emperor of the ashes. 

Now, she knows nothing of purpose or legacy. Nothing of glory or pride. 

But that _voice…_ The woman’s dulcet notes make her yearn to feel alive again. Vital and on the fringe of everything she could ever want. She remembers her _mutter_ then, briefly. It has been so long since she has seen her, but still she remembers. Broken lullabies. Gentle, Vandalic murmurings of love and gentleness, not fit for an heir to a kingdom, but somehow everything she needed. 

The woman’s singing reminds her of that. She makes her feel alive again, even if it is only borrowed. 

So, against the teachings of her Maker, she slowly approaches the bonfire. Someone plays a string instrument. Another taps on a handmade drum. She wants to join them, to sing with them. When she was still human and she had grown into a precocious youth, so full of charisma and easy charm, she used to sing with her mother. The same songs from infancy and early childhood, the same songs to stave away the pain of loss. Her father went away on the barges and never came back. They said he died in battle, that he was a great warrior. 

But she and her mother both knew the truth. 

He left on purpose. Hidden away with some Roman whore in a brothel. Gambled away the royal jewels and heirlooms. 

But none of that matters now. 

She lingers in the shadows for a short while, but then one of the musicians sees her and calls out to her to join them. She has this effect on people - she is not unaware of it. It is her eyes, she knows. They tell stories. They beckon. 

_Smaragdm_ , her _mutter_ had called her eyes. 

Emeralds. 

Right before she takes the musicians and the woman with the lovely voice away to the same darkened place her soul resides in, for a brief while she feels alive again. She approaches them, sand kicking up around her boots. Her smile is charming. Disarming. Guileless. Full of innocence, eyes framed by black lashes that rest on her high, proud cheeks. Her black locks are windswept and a little wild, but she knows how this adds to her charm. To the web of trust she can so easily build.

She must have the woman and her minstrels. She must have them all. They do not yet know that she will drain them dry. All of them, but especially the woman with her lovely voice. All she can see is her mother’s face and…

_This is not your dream. GET OUT._

Suddenly, she is tumbling through the dark. 

The beach is gone, along with the ocean waves and salty air. As she leaves the dream, she can hear the way the woman’s voice has changed; once singing so beautifully and now turned into frantic and horrified screaming. All of it falls away, and when she finds herself in another dream - perhaps, right next door to the last one - she is in that bathroom all over again. Lady Irmele hovers at her side with her dead, milky eyes and her rotting skin. 

_Das Kind ist kein Kind ist kein Kind,_ the dead woman whispers to her. 

The mirror is fogged over. Chilled with frost and when she raises a trembling hand towards the shadow on the other side, she - 

*

\- opens her eyes to her gloomy cabin, alone. 

But she does not _feel_ alone. There is a presence hovering in her mind. Cautious and guarded. She is not the only one who is awake when they should not be. 

Normally, she would feel smug that Kylo is just as unnerved as she is, but she cannot muster the strength. She is still furious with him from yesterday. Furious, yet wary as well. She does not wish to experience what he did to her again. It was a _violation_ , even if he had drawn her into his mind, instead of the other way around this time. She is just going to have to accept that she is staying on this ship with him. Once they hit land…

Rey jerks her head as though stung by a bee. 

He is poking around in there again. She can feel him more keenly than normal. For his part, he does not seem angry, or smug, or any of the other things she is accustomed to from him.

Rather, he seems just as wary as she is. 

She experiences a thrill of vague disquiet then, like the fawns that often grazed the field around her tiny cottage on Crete, skittish before a coming storm. Even with the cabin in complete darkness, she can sense that it is still daylight outside. She has never woken up in the middle of a rest before, but then again, she has never been able to stay awake during the daylight either. 

Until very recently, that is. 

_Go away,_ she sends through the tenuous tether she would rather pretend does not exist. 

The ship rocks over a wave. She jolts with it, almost sitting up in her cot, when the presence abruptly withdraws. 

Rey relaxes marginally, her teeth clenched though she is perturbed to realize this more out of anxiety than anger. That dream… she has had it before. 

After a long while, she falls asleep again. She keeps waiting for the presence to return, to be punished for her inadvertent trespass, but the other end of the connection remains dark, up until the moment her eyes slip shut once more. 

*

Rey listens to the sailors speak about something called _The_ _Nile._ She does not know what The Nile is and it is only through careful observation that she realizes that this is where they are going. That The Nile is a river and a great one at that.

In the distance, she can see land. The great, wild continent of the oldest world known to man. 

Africa. 

She has read tales about Africa before, though she has learned to doubt their accuracy. She thought Crete a place of age and wonder, but that island is nothing against the enormity of the land stretched the horizon. 

She begins to wonder if Africa holds other secrets as well. 

Never before, since her turning, has Rey ever boasted any curiosity about the origins of their kind. She hates vampires. They are vicious and cruel, singularly minded about one thing and one thing only. She is not any better, even if she likes to pretend otherwise. Which only makes her self-hatred all the more potent. But now she can see the way a Maker is supposed to be with their progeny, as much as that might pain her to admit it.

Where did they begin as a species? How did it all start? Who was the first and are they still alive now?

Mostly she wonders _why_ they exist. What is their purpose, besides death and blood? From that question, and all the others, she comes away empty. For now. 

_Kylo could show me,_ a traitorous voice whispers in her mind. Not for the first time either. 

Perhaps it is stubbornness or sheer spite that makes her turn away from that thought. She has seen what he thinks about their existence, a world in which they are the apex predator and they are here to dominate, while the rest exist to serve. To die. To _sustain_ him. Yet, as the journey across the sea goes on, and she has nothing left to fill her time besides reading and keeping an eye on Isabelle, she cannot deny that he _is_ a good teacher. Far better than Luke ever was to her. 

He shows the girl how to hunt, how to be enchanting and cunning with humans - not only to kill them and drink their blood, but also to curry favours with them. Even though Isabelle does not possess many of the gifts Kylo has, he never loses patience with her. Rey keeps a very close eye on them to ensure this, but it is always from a distance. She notes it herself - her pulling away from Isabelle and the way he and the girl grow closer and closer. 

She is not sure why she does not resist their budding relationship more, why she does not intervene when he shows her how to kill humans, how to dispose of their bodies like they mean nothing - and just about everything else he has to teach her. For five years, the thing that terrified her most was the thought of what he and the others would do to Isabelle. She never cared for her own safety, not when she had a daughter to watch out for. It was always Isabelle for her. A new purpose in life, something to prevent her from walking out into the sun one morning and just ending this wretched existence. 

But now…

Rey cannot put her finger on it, only knowing that he likely has something planned. As he always does. That when the time comes, he will use their mysterious connection in some way that benefits him, no matter what she has to say about it. And that Isabelle is likely just collateral to him. A guarantee that she will go along with whatever he wants. 

As she sits up on the upper deck, reclining against the bulkhead and watching the stars in the sky, she remembers with startling clarity the last night she spent in the Manor. The way she so effortlessly launched Maz away from her, with just the will of her mind. The way she did the same to Kylo, towering above him with her silver sword without an ounce of fear in her heart. Just rage and vindication. Pure power thrumming through her veins. 

She looks down at her palms, staring at the deep, mottled scars scoring her hands. Then she turns her left arm over and peers at the groove of bite marks there. Her marks of defiance and freedom. 

Had that all just been for nothing then? Is she just going to give up and submit to Kylo, as he has always wanted her to?

Rey shivers when she thinks about their altercation in the corridor yesterday. The way he had just _kissed_ her, like he had the right to whenever he wanted. Like she _belonged_ to him. 

_He likes that I scarred him. That I marked him. That I continue to fight against him, even if it also enrages him to no end. It is what has been missing for him for hundreds of years. A true equal…_

Rey rubs her mouth unconsciously, the feeling his lips still so fresh that she cannot think about anything else. No matter how hard she tries to forget. She cannot imagine Kylo wanting an equal in anyone, not with the way he craves power and domination; however, she does not know him. Not truly. 

“Mama, will you braid my hair?” 

Rey looks to her side to find Isabelle hovering unsurely by the railing. She is wearing a pretty blue dress that matches her eyes. Her hair billows around her head with the ocean wind. Suddenly she feels guilty. She has been all but neglecting the girl ever since they boarded the ship. Far too preoccupied with finding a way to thwart Kylo, she has forgotten about the very thing she is trying to protect. 

“Of course, my love.” She holds out a hand to her. “Come here.”

And so, they sit together for a while. Rey braids Isabelle’s hair just the way she likes, in two pigtails, and the girl prattles on about all the things she can do with new abilities. Kylo, for once, is nowhere to be found. They are alone at last and she relishes in the quiet of their togetherness. In the familiarity even though everything has changed so irrevocably. 

Yet, of course, the inevitable topic comes up before long. 

“Papa is showing me how to glamour more than one person at the same time. He tells me I am a natural.” Isabelle is playing with a little doll that Rey has never seen before, braiding its hair just the same way she braids hers. “I like him. He is always so nice to me, mama. He even found me this doll. We named her Rhylen - isn’t that a peculiar name?”

Rey falters for a moment before going back to braiding her hair. She mutters in her dullest tone, “Really.”

 _Bastard,_ she privately thinks. _Naming that damned thing after me. He knows Isabelle does not know my full name. Why would she? It is a dead name but of course he seeks to bring it up. To ruin me in whatever way he can. Serves me right for thinking of him in any kind of positive light at all._

“Yes,” Isabelle replies, breaking her from her inner dialogue. “Papa wants the three of us to go hunting when we reach the continent. He says he will find us a great meal - one that even mama will eat.” 

She all but rolls her eyes behind her back. She has been utterly foolish. All this time searching the ship for weapons and trying to come up with plans to dispose of the sonofabitch, and she has all but allowed him to sweep her daughter off her feet. He even has her calling him _papa_ now. That is what _she_ called her own father, before he and his murderous kin devoured her entire family. He probably knows it too.

_Stupid. So stupid, Rey._

“That sounds… nice. But you know that I only drink from animals, Isabelle.” Really, she would rather have her skin peeled off than hunt with Kylo ever again, but she does not say so. “Once we get to land, I was hoping to show you how I hunt.”

“Can papa come too?” Isabelle turns back to her halfway through the second braid, forcing her to stop. There is something a little shrewd in those blue eyes. Something a little too knowing. 

“What is it?” 

“You…” She pauses, purses her lips and then leans closer to her to whisper herself. “You don’t like papa. Do you?”

For the first time in five years, Rey does not know how to answer her. Should she tell her the truth, or has he worked his charm over her more than she thought? Can she even be trusted anymore?

 _I hate this,_ Rey thinks, staring into her daughter’s eyes with practiced blankness. _I hate that it has come to this._

She sighs. 

“Your… _papa_ and I don’t always get along.” She says “papa” with a measure of distaste she cannot hide no more than she can change her eye colour. 

Isabelle thinks this over for a moment, petting her doll’s hair and staring out at the ocean before brightening up with a smile. “You mean - like those merchants we saw fighting once?”

Rey smiles briefly, thinking to herself that there are no words to describe the animosity between her and Kylo. But that she does not need to know that. 

“Something like that.” 

“Really, because I thought…” Isabelle suddenly turns around, refusing to meet her eyes any longer.

But she isn’t having it. She gently, but firmly, turns the girl back to her and raises her eyebrows questioningly. 

“You thought what?”

She could read her mind, if she wanted to. She could press her will against hers, in the exact same way that Kylo does to her, but then… She really would be just like him and she vowed a long time ago that she would never become that kind of monster. It is bad enough existing like this, but to stoop to his level - no. Never. 

Suddenly, Isabelle leaps into her lap and throws her arms around her neck. Startled, she brings her arms around her and holds her close. It feels like it has been so long since she has held her like this. 

“Promise you’ll never leave me.”

Rey’s eyes fly open and then she draws away just enough to meet her eyes. 

“Isabelle, I would never leave you. _Never_. Do you understand me?”

There are faint red lines in the girl’s eyes - tears, she realizes. She presses a quick kiss to each of her cheeks and holds the girl again, burying her face in her golden curls. 

“Promise?”

“I promise, my love.” She rocks her gently, combing her fingers through her hair in the way she always used to like her to. 

She does not see the feverish glint in Isabelle’s eyes, or the possessive way she holds her back. If she had, she might have thought about her dream again and perhaps much of the catastrophe about to unfold would have never happened. 

*

Rey is lost in the story, for once experiencing a modicum of relaxation. It is a book she has read many times, but that does not make it any less captivating. Some things are meant to be read again and again, to glean all those hidden details that enrichen the story and makes the characters come alive, if only for a brief while. 

And when an unwelcome shadow fills the doorway to her cabin she refuses to look away from her book, hoping that he might just go away. She should know better by now. 

“Not skulking around the cargo anymore, I see. I take it you have finally given up your silly delusions of escape.” 

She looks down at her book with a withering scowl rather than aiming it at the culprit. “Don’t you have a house to haunt somewhere?”

Kylo’s lips curl. “Ah, I see you’re still acting like a bitch. A poor night’s sleep will do that, I hear.”

Rey tears her eyes off her book to glare at him. Which, she is certain, is exactly what he wanted. He loathes it when she ignores him, the insufferable princess.

She notes that he is not wearing his cloak tonight, without knowing _why_ she notes it. It is the oddity of it, she decides. Not because she can see his throat and collarbones, where his white shirt is opened at the collar. Not because she can note the trim lines of his waist where his loose trousers sit. 

She squints at him cautiously, forgetting about her strange little fascination with the difference in his appearance when she sees just how exhausted he looks. Despite the trademark smirk, he looks just as worn out as she feels. Pale, drawn. Eyes bloodshot. 

With far less bite than she intends, she murmurs, “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

He goes to close the door and she launches off her cot with a furious snarl. “We’re not having a repeat of yesterday, thank you.”

She catches the door before he can close it and the two of them glare at each other with their lips curling and teeth glinting. 

After a tense moment of this, he raises an imperious eyebrow. “This is not for Isabelle’s ears.”

“Where is she, then, if not with you?” Her chest is heaving with false breaths against the loose material of her beige cotton gown. His eyes dip down to her chest, but she does not give herself time to be indignant. She pokes his chest to get his attention and shakes her head at him with exasperated anger. “You can’t just leave her alone, you buffoon! Not now, when she is most vulnerable.”

His eyes glint with rage. “She is in the engine room, you intolerable nag. I left her with her dolls, she is perfectly happy.” 

With a low growl, Kylo suddenly rips the door from her grasp and slams it shut.

Rey skitters away from him before he can try anything. She grabs a lead pipe from under the bed, a little token she found in the cargo hold a few days ago. Although it won’t do him any permanent damage, she brandishes it at him. 

But he only tips back his head and roars with laughter. 

“Oh, that is rich. Or pathetic, I can’t really decide.” His eyes sparkle with unholy mischief and he aims a crooked grin at her that does _not_ make her stomach flutter.

Because she hates him. She would never have such a reaction to him. 

“Get out,” Rey warns him in a low growl. “Or I’ll give you another scar to match the one on your face.”

His grin drops so quickly, she is almost dizzy with it. For a moment, he seems to grow even larger than he already is, as impossible as that should be. Black hair sprouts on his face and his teeth elongate. He looks, very much, like a starved wolf. 

Then, in a blink of an eye, he is normal again. Eyeing her with disdain, he crosses the small room at light speed and sits down on the cot where she was just sitting a moment ago, lounging with all the nonchalance of a king. 

“Wh- are you - did you not _hear_ me, you brute! I said _get out_!” She holds the pipe high above her head again, eyes flashing wildly. 

“Oh shut up before you give yourself a nosebleed. I really am just here to talk.” He pats the scant bit of space next to him and offers her a wink before smirking at her. “Come here and sit with me, _lila_. I promise I won’t bite.”

Rey sputters at him. She cannot blush - not with the scant rat blood she has been living off of - but if she could, she would be. Rather than take him up on his offer, she slowly backs away from him and stands in the corner, not quite lowering the pipe. There is absolutely no way she would ever willingly sit next to him. Especially not on a bed. 

“Go on then,” she spits at him. “Hurry it up. I don’t want to be in your presence any longer than necessary.”

He chews on his cheek, eyeing the pipe and then her. 

“Do you really think that will do anything, Rey?” Her breath catches at his low, familiar tone. He nods at her, like she agreed with him out loud. “We both know it won’t. It’s not silver, my love. Not like your sword. If I wanted to, I could break that thing in half with just my thumb.”

“Are you threatening me?” she replies just as quietly. Every muscle in her body is poised for defense. Like a tickle at the back of her head, she feels her power perk up. Awaiting orders, waiting to unleash. 

Kylo appraises her with a thin smile, like he can sense it too. 

“Not at all. You can inflict far more damage without that thing.” 

He goes on sitting on her bed, supremely unconcerned with the murderous thoughts going through her head a mile a minute. She lowers the pipe, swallowing past a suspicious lump in her throat. 

His eyes darken under her tremulous gaze, betraying his intentions as they always do. 

“But you're not the only one who possesses such talents. Should you choose to attack me - _again_ \- I will only respond in kind. Then we won’t have to bother with these little games anymore, will we? We would tear this ship apart. Sure, we would survive the ship sinking, but what would poor Isabelle do? She would be terrified that her mama and papa have resorted to such barbaric measures.”

“Now _that_ is funny,” Rey replies acidly, but she sounds breathless, even to herself. “ _You_ telling me what is barbaric and what isn’t. _You’re_ the one who eviscerated over a dozen people and held me underneath them while you forced me to drain them with you. _You’re_ the one who has tortured and killed hundreds - if not thousands - of innocent people, just for the hell of it. If anyone is a barbarian here, it is _you_.”

“True,” he concedes dismissively. She stares at him incredulously, but he only waves her off. “I’m not here to trade insults, _lila_. I think we have done a great job of that already so far on this journey. Don’t you?”

Rey makes a small sound in her throat. 

Kylo leans forward then, the cot’s rusty springs creaking with his weight. She raises the pipe again, though not as high as before. His gaze does not waver from hers this time. His left eye twitches and his jaw shifts from side to side in thought. He reaches into his shirt and withdraws a long, narrow tube she does not recognize at first. It is white and looks like thick, rolled parchment - only, when his long fingers begin unravelling it, she sees splashes of colour. Paint - it is paint.

 _Her_ paint. 

Her stomach first shoots up into her throat and then turns to lead. She looks from him to the painting in dismal surprise.

“I’m sure you recognize this.” 

The pipe drops from her numb hands onto the cabin floor with a dull _thunk_. 

*

Outside the closed cabin door, blue eyes glitter in the gloomy corridor. 

She does not need to press her ear to the door to hear them. Her hearing - along with all her other senses - has grown exponentially stronger in the last week. Ever since her turning. She has some awareness over the other changes as well. Once fiercely independent, she has become reliant on papa and mama. She needs them close…

They are _hers_. Hers and no one else’s. 

There is one gift that papa has taught her. A gift that he made her promise never to tell mama about. She almost did anyway, tonight when mama braided her hair and told her she would never leave her. But some whisper of intuition prevented her from doing so. She cannot read minds the way they can, but she can feel when someone is lying to her. Mama will never leave her - that much she knows. But she is hiding something from her.

And it seems now that it is not just mama who has kept things from her. 

She does not like that the door is closed. She really does not like that papa does not want to discuss whatever it is they are talking about in front of her. She hears a snatch of words - hears papa asking mama _what is this, Rey? Don’t lie, for I will know._

A flicker of unease steals through her. 

She does not want them to fight anymore. They might think they’re being clever when they go elsewhere on the ship to do it, but she has learned how to be quick and quiet. Not even papa can hear her sometimes. Neither of them is aware that she is right outside the door, clutching her doll and listening feverishly. 

Maybe it is because they have been out to sea for too long. Maybe they need to get off this ship. She does not like closed doors and she does not like secrets, no matter that they are grown-ups and she is still a child. Rage spikes through her, but she is still careful to be quiet when she heads back down the hall. 

They have been on this ship too long, she decides. But she can fix this. Mama and papa will see that she is not a child anymore and they won’t close a door against her ever again. 

*

It is just like what she saw in her dream last night, though she suspects that she has been seeing this image for far longer than just today. 

“What is this, Rey? Don’t lie, for I will know.” 

Her gaze flickers to Kylo, to the searching look on his face and then back to the painting even though she does not want to look at it anymore.

The background is deep orange; like rust. Or dried blood. Black paint sweeps up from the bottom of the canvas, gradually tinted grey and light rusty orange to depict folds in a cloak. A thin strip of translucent silk runs horizontally across the painting - right over a plush and unmistakable pair of lips. Slashed across the right brow on a diagonal angle, down past the strip and silk and out of sight, runs a thin red scar. A long, proud nose sweeps up to a forehead shaded in palest cream, then wavy black hair and glowing green eyes. 

The likeness to Kylo is stunningly, almost unnervingly accurate. 

“Rey?”

Her tongue seems to finally unstick itself from the roof of her mouth when she looks at the real Kylo. 

“Where did you get that?”

He scoffs at her. “Don’t ask me stupid questions. You know where I got it.”

The attic. She thought she had hidden those wretched pieces away, where no one would find them. She should have burned the fucking things.

“Maybe you should have,” he replies to her thoughts out loud, “but I’m glad you did not. Things are beginning to make more sense now.”

“Things? What things?” Rey snaps at him, but really she is completely unnerved.

The painting, the dream last night, the way their minds are seemingly connected - _nothing_ makes sense to her at all. She feels like the walls of the cabin are closing in on her. 

“You already know what I am referring to, but if you want to continue playing your little games of denial, I am happy to enlighten you.” He drops the painting on the bed. “I remember our dream from last night just as well as you do. I remember _all_ of our dreams, _lila_. Every single one. But something different happened last night.”

“Maybe because you _violated_ me - _again_!” she shrieks at him, not bothering to keep up pretenses anymore, nor bothering to keep her voice down. “If you hadn’t forced yourself into my head to begin with, then this wouldn’t be happening!”

Kylo abruptly stands to his full height with a disgusted hiss. But Rey isn’t wary of him anymore - not in this moment. She is pure rage. 

“Oh stop your whining,” he growls at her, like she is the one being unreasonable. “That is all I’ve had to deal with from you, since the very beginning. Bellyaching about how hard it is to be immortal. You have been given a gift that few possess. And this gift is one of them.”

He brings the painting up and practically shoves it in her face. She pushes it away angrily, snarling and swiping at his face when he grabs her arm and thrusts the painting before her again. His lips are at her ear as he forces her to stare at the painting and she pulls away from him again, though not nearly as forcefully as she should. His touch is _wrong_ , yet somehow he pulls her into his orbit. His scent fills her nostrils and her next growl is weak. 

“At first I was flattered,” he tells her quietly, lips catching on her earlobe. She stares down at the painting, only vaguely remembering when she created it. She had just awoken from one of her dreams, barely able to recall any details. Save for him. She painted it in less than an hour and by the time she was through she was nearly in tears, covered in paint and quick to hide it from Isabelle. 

As Rey stares at it now, all she feels is an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, like no matter where she turns or where she tries to run, all roads will lead back to this _thing_ between them. 

“I thought maybe you had missed me after all,” he continues and now _he_ is the one who sounds a little breathless. He noses around in her hair and then down towards her throat. The painting flutters to the floor and then his hand covers her hip, tugging her and pulling her to him so that her face rests against his chest. 

And she does not fight him. She really should, but she doesn’t. 

His other hand comes up, curling into the fine hairs on the nape of her neck and worming underneath the loose bun she has tied there. Her skin tingles at his touch. 

“But then, I felt you. Last night in my dream. I was very angry with you, darling. I almost came over here, no matter what the time of day was but then I thought… What if you had not meant to do it?” 

His lips are on her forehead, her temple and then her hair again. Against all reason she presses closer and closes her eyes. She is too tired to fight him. Too drawn out and… A part of her, shamefully, does not want to fight him anymore. She might even be curious about what he has to say because she certainly cannot understand what is happening. 

“And when I followed you back, I saw this in your head. The very same as the painting I found in your attic. I knew what this was.”

“What…” She can feel it from him too - can feel his intrigue and his pleased inner thoughts that she has not tried to pull away from him. The tether between them feels stronger than ever. Thoughts and emotions muddying together, becoming difficult to discern from her own. “What is this?” 

“Did Luke ever tell you about _somnium peruenerit_?” 

Rey opens her eyes and stares down at the painting on the floor with a frown. But she does not need to answer him. 

Kylo releases a mirthless chuckle and mutters, “Of course he didn’t.”

“What is -” she cuts herself off and they both stiffen at the same time. 

Somewhere, through the decks above them, they hear screaming.

With a startled look to each other, they spring apart. Kylo snatches the painting from the floor and stuffs it back in his shirt. Rey makes it to the door first, tearing it open. The corridor is filled with smoke, and after a few seconds she hears more shouting and hollering from up above. 

Before she can make it two steps, he grabs her arm and stops her. 

She spins to him, eyes glowing amber and teeth bared. “Let me go! I have to find Isabelle!”

“Do you want to burn to death, you silly little fool?” He restrains her when she tries to take off again and without even thinking about it, she wraps her hand around the collar of his shirt and yanks him down so they are level. She operates on pure instinct right now, having no thought for her own safety, but for Isabelle’s. 

“I’m not going anywhere without her,” she tells him low and sure. For an instant, her power fill her hands with invisible energy and she can see the brief widening of his eyes when he feels it too. 

Kylo reaches up with a steady hand and wraps it around hers. 

“I know exactly where she is,” he replies with far more calmness than she feels. He holds her gaze for a moment, some decision flitting across the emotions there before he straightens his back and nods. “Stay behind me, _lila_. We’ll find her together.”

Rey releases his collar and then he sweeps past her, his wide, solid shoulders taking up most of the expanse of the corridor. She follows behind him, sweeping out her senses for her daughter and praying that the worst has not happened, even though in her darkest of hearts, she already knows. 


	17. Guardians of the Ancients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the edge of the beach, just within the treeline, five shadowy figures stand, watching them. Their eyes glow at them from the darkness. 
> 
> She can feel their minds. All caution and curiosity, tainted yellow and burnished orange. It is only when one of them steps forward, a beautiful young woman with her hair in a large, dark cloud around her head and her neck adorned with a thick gold necklace, that Rey thinks to wonder at the oddity of them. 
> 
> They are surely vampires. And their eyes glow violet in the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A new character and a little callback to Finn, too. Next chap, we'll have some more Kylo/Rey development ;) 
> 
> Part Two is going to be much longer than Part One, I think. Don't have a precise chapter count for this bad boy, but expect saga-like proportions lol. 
> 
> Anywho, enjoy! <3 See end of chapter for translations :D
> 
> Image One: Frans Mensink  
> Image Two: artist unknown  
> Image Three: The Rise of Skywalker

The deck is a blazing inferno by the time they scale the stairs. 

Screams fill the night, but they are not those of fear. Excruciating, blood-curdling shrieks of agony - that is what greets them when they stagger to the upper deck. Men are on fire. Blood covers much of the wooden slats of the deck. The helm is unmanned, the wheel spinning listlessly as the boat rocks from side to side. Rey nearly lurches off her feet when the ship glides aimlessly into a rough ocean wave. 

Outwardly, she is horrified. Sickened by the carnage and chaos. Frantic to find Isabelle. 

But she cannot hide her other reactions either. Her blood sings as though she is right at home with the bedlam overtaking the ship. Kylo turns to her, and she knows that he feels it too. A part of her likes the horrific screaming and blood-splattered sails just fine. A part of her _also_ likes the dark glint in his eyes, when his gaze sweeps over her thin gown and the low neckline revealing the tops of her breasts. She hadn’t had time to put anything else on - in fact, all their belongings are likely in flames like everything else on this ship. 

Despite the mayhem happening around them, even when a man runs past them in a ball of flames to throw himself off the ship and into the black waters, she cannot look away from Kylo. Her lips part and she drifts closer to him, drawn in by something she does not understand. There was something she was worried about, but she cannot remember what it is now. 

“I feel it too, _lila._ ” When his hand steals over hers, she does not pull away. He gazes around the deck, eyes glinting ravenously, but he masters himself with far more ease than Rey can. “Come, Rey. Isabelle is near.”

She snaps back to herself but even then she does not snatch her hand away, as she would have under any circumstances. Whatever that moment was, whatever insanity threatened to overtake her, she has drawn herself out of it. For the most part. 

They move quickly across the deck, Rey screaming Isabelle’s name and Kylo growling and snarling like an agitated bear. The heat of the fire is blistering and though neither of them has the ability to sweat anymore, they both hiss and flit away from the flames when they get too close. His hand is an anchor on hers, otherwise, she would be flying across the ship in a panic. 

A part of her might savour this violence (even if she hates herself for it) but mostly she is terrified for Isabelle - even though she knows the girl caused all this. She just does not know _how_ she knows. It is a feeling, like every other mysterious hunch she has had since her turning.

The question is - where is Isabelle now?

Kylo seems to know where he is going, so for the first time in her life, she trusts him blindly. He takes her past charred bodies and burning sails, he flings away crazed men who are panicking and do not know where to go, and he leads them out of the path of the fire.

To their daughter, Rey hopes. 

A loud creaking sound disrupts the cacophony. Splinters of wood shower on them, the roar of the fire drowned out under the groan of wood and metal. Rey looks up in time to see that the largest mast is about to crash into the deck - but Kylo has already reacted, almost too fast for even her to catch. He shoots out his free hand like he somehow means to catch the gigantic mast. 

But it never falls. 

His power is concussing - raw, and tenuous, and so utterly familiar to her own. She gasps at the feeling, watching as the mast floats serenely in the air above them, held suspended by the sheer power of his mind. 

Then, with a shoving motion, Kylo uses his power to thrust the mast away. It crashes into the ocean with a gigantic splash, sinking into the depths below. 

“ _Mama_!” 

“Isabelle!” Rey spins around, trying to pull out of Kylo’s grasp. She sounds so close, but she cannot see her through the flames and smoke. 

Isabelle cries out to her again, but before she can take off to find her, Kylo yanks her back to his side, shielding her when part of the deck collapses into a roar of flames. They’re pressed against the railing, cut off from the rest of the deck and almost blind in the smoke. Rey starts sobbing, fruitlessly trying to tug her hand out of his to take off into the air. If she can fly over the ship, she might be able to -

“Can you swim?” Kylo shouts into her ear. 

Bloody tears line her face and she turns to him with absolutely no recognition of the words he has just uttered. It is like he is speaking Latin. She needs to find Isabelle. What if she is trapped? What if -

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter either way.” 

“What-?” she begins to ask him, still trying to pull out of his grip, when suddenly his hands connect to her chest. 

He _shoves_ her overboard. 

His name leaves her lips in a furious shriek, but in the next second, all that fills her mouth is salty water. She kicks in the murky depths, tossed violently from the might of the waves. When she surfaces, it's to discover the entire ship is in flames.

Kylo is not at the railing anymore - in fact, he is nowhere to be seen at all. 

Consumed with fear over Isabelle’s fate (and maybe… just a little, _tiny_ bit for Kylo’s as well), she is about to fly out of the water when a hand suddenly grips her under her arm.

She is lifted up and into the air, only to be swaddled in his scent. Vanilla, rain and mint. She knows before her panicked mind can make sense of what she is seeing that it is Kylo she is clinging to and who has saved them. Two small arms wrap around her neck and Rey is already sobbing with relief before she recognizes the tuft of blond curls under his other arm. 

“Hang onto me!” he shouts over the din.

Rey doesn't need to be told twice.

She grips onto his shoulders even though she could easily fly in her own. There is just something comforting about letting him take over even she would admit that to him in a thousand lifetimes. Isabelle buries her face in her neck, crying so hard that Rey cannot understand what she is trying to say to her.

But it doesn’t matter. They are alive. They are safe. 

Isabelle presses closer on instinct, smothering her tears into her chest. Rey wraps her arm over Kylo’s neck to get a better hold, gripping his shoulders and holding her between them as they take off into the black night. His arm tightens around her in turn and though she does not mean to press her face into his throat, she is left with little choice with how little room there is between them. 

His scent seems to fold around her like a second embrace and she is… relieved. Comforted in a way she cannot begin to explain. It was only a few short years ago that the two of them sparred in the middle of another fire, but now…

 _He is still my enemy,_ she tries to remind herself, but even this thought seems weak and distant. 

The fact is that Kylo made good on his word. He saved Isabelle. He saved them _all._

Far below them, she sees the ship disintegrate from the fire, where it quickly sinks into the ocean. Orange flames glow across the rough sea, until they are too far away to make out and there is only blackness. 

*

They have barely landed on a beach of an unknown land when Kylo suddenly releases Rey.

She stumbles at the abrupt movement and only has a second to be startled by it before she is _hissing_ with outrage. 

Kylo takes no notice. 

He has grabbed Isabelle by the nape of her neck, just as he did back in their little cottage on Crete. Only now he is _infuriated_. She can feel it from him - that familiar brand of raw fury that never fails to make her quake with a heady mixture of fear and awe, even if some of the fear has worn off in the last five years. 

Isabelle screams in pain and surprise, her own eyes flashing brilliant blue. But her struggles are pointless.

Kylo far outmatches her in strength and age. 

His shirt is still soaked from when he plucked her out of the water and the fabric clings to him obscenely, outlining the way every muscle in his body has gone taut with his anger.

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking, _kleines Dummchen_!” Kylo roars at the girl, shaking her back and forth by the roots of her hair for good measure. 

Isabelle shrieks and claws at his hand. 

“ _Kylo_!” Rey shouts, but then his head snaps up so he can deliver her a scathing look. 

_You will let me handle this, lila._

It takes her a second to realize that he has sent this thought to her in the flighty connection between their minds. She wavers for a moment, caught between pulling Isabelle into the safety of her arms and obeying him. If this was any other time, she would have marched right up to them and taken Isabelle away, consequences be damned. 

But… he is Isabelle’s Maker. The girl almost got them all killed. She murdered an entire ship of humans without any warning or explanation.

She wants to know _why_ , at least.

Isabelle had not even drained most of them, so she knows it had nothing to do with hunger. God, she would be smug right now and rubbing it in Kylo’s face that she was _right_ , goddamnit, that she _warned_ him this might happen. But she is too many things right now to feel smug at all. 

After a moment of indecision, she subsides unhappily, giving over the task of Isabelle’s discipline to her Maker. 

_Don’t hurt her,_ she sends to him on the thread of their connection.

His upper lip curls with disdain, though she does not know if it is for her, Isabelle, or the entire situation. 

“Mama -” Isabelle begins tearfully, but Kylo promptly cuts her off from speech with a warning growl. 

“ _Mama_ is going to stay right where she is, little one.” Soot covers most of his face, his white shirt stained beyond repair. Isabelle has not fared much better.

Miraculously, the most kempt out of all of them is Rey, though she attributes that to him shoving her into the water. 

“I didn’t mean to -” Isabelle begins in a high-pitched whine that sounds nothing like the little girl Rey has raised these last five years. 

Kylo angrily cuts her off once more, lowering himself so he can speak close to her ear.

“No stories, Isabelle. No lies. I can see them turning about in your head, but you will not be able to fool anyone here, darling. _You_ , my dear, are going to tell us why you torched that ship. _Don’t_ lie,” he hisses when Isabelle shows all signs of doing just that, “for I will know. I am your Maker and I command you to speak the truth.”

Isabelle shudders like the very words have cast a spell over her. She stops struggling and leans up on the tips of her toes to take some of the pressure of her scalp. Her gaze flits to Rey again and the betrayal in her eyes goes right through her. 

However much it might pain her to admit it, though, he is right. They deserve an explanation. 

“Go on,” she tells her quietly. 

Isabelle emits a low whimper, not quite in tears yet but well on her way there. Then, finally, she speaks. 

“I heard you both fighting. Earlier, on the ship.” 

Rey stiffens, but Kylo does not react at all. He just watches her, waiting for her to hurry it up. His anger is still potent in the air, but the sharp edge of it has dulled, just a little, now that Isabelle is cooperating. 

“And?” he prompts her with a small tug to her hair.

Rey glares at him, but he does not look remotely abashed. This is another thing she never experienced with Luke. Admonishments. Like a parent slapping their child’s wrist for almost touching a burning pot. 

She is not as fascinated this time, only troubled with Isabelle’s confounding behaviour and irritated with Kylo for his heavy-handedness. 

“I’m sick of it,” she confesses. Red lines ooze out of her eyes and again, Rey is consumed with guilt. All this time, she had thought the girl had not heard them. But she had. She had suffered along with them, the entire journey out here. “I hear you fighting every night and I hate it. I thought…”

“What did you think?” Rey murmurs to her gently. 

Kylo rolls his eyes at her but she ignores him, taking a few steps closer. For all his annoyance, he has loosened his grip in the girl’s hair so that she can settle back on her feet. 

“I thought if we had to leave the ship, it would stop! I thought that was why you were so angry with each other!” Isabelle exclaims and then she starts sobbing, covering her face with her hands. 

Rey stares at her for a long moment, unsure. There is something deep in the girl’s mind, a tickle of prevarication. Had that really been her reasoning? She suspects that was part of it, but…

Then, she notices Kylo staring at her. His gaze holds a guarded assessment that she has only seen from him a handful of times before. They are thinking the same thing. It is not quite a question that she sends him, but he seems to get the gist of it because he slowly shakes his head at her, when Isabelle is not looking. 

Before Rey can fully make up her mind on the matter, he turns away from her to speak to Isabelle once more. 

“You could have killed us all. You know that, don’t you?” 

Isabelle starts sobbing harder and shakes her head furiously. She drops her hands and looks between them beseechingly. “I swear, I didn’t mean for that to happen! I just wanted leave the ship. Then, maybe things would be right again and we c-could do all the things you promised, papa. Hunting together, becoming a family…”

She trails off into dejected wailing and Kylo slowly releases her from his grasp, catching the girl before she can collapse to her knees in the sand. Rey stares at those golden curls and then closes the distance between them. Blindly, Isabelle pulls out of Kylo’s arms and throws her arms around her waist, burying her face into her gown.

 _We’ll watch her,_ Kylo sends to her. 

Rey gives a jerky nod in reply. She bends down and scoops the girl into her arms. In the eastern sky, she can just make out the beginnings of sunrise. 

“Kylo we need to get moving,” she whispers urgently. 

He glances at the sky and then back to her - only then, a strange shiver goes up her spine and she realizes he is not looking at her at all. 

Rey spins around, but he is already walking past her and Isabelle to stand protectively in front of them. At the edge of the beach, just within the treeline, five shadowy figures watch them. Their eyes glow at them from the darkness.

She can feel their minds. All caution and curiosity, tainted yellow and burnished orange. It is only when one of them steps forward, a beautiful young woman with her hair in a large, dark cloud around her head and her neck adorned with a thick gold necklace, that Rey thinks to wonder at the oddity of them. 

They are surely vampires. And their eyes glow _violet_ in the night. 

The woman appraises them silently. Rey can sense an ancientness to her, much like Kylo. Her face is wide, her skin an ashy bronze and her limbs toned with muscle. She wears a short golden dress and nothing else. Her gaze flits over Kylo and then to Rey and Isabelle. 

“Mama?” Isabelle whispers fearfully. 

“Hush,” Rey replies just as quietly. 

Then, to her bemusement, Kylo crosses the sand and walks past her to greet the mysterious woman warmly, like they know one another. The words he uses are foreign, though the language is vaguely familiar to Rey. 

“ _Ni wewe, rafiki wa zamani_?”

“It is good to see you too, Kylo. It has been too long,” the woman replies with a slow smile. 

Rey blinks in surprise, grasping Isabelle tightly to herself. So they _do_ know each other. Instantly on alert, she does little to hide her misgivings when she aims a pointed glare at the woman’s men for their open _staring_ at them. 

“Well, I would say you found us just in time,” Kylo replies with all the charm and charisma she knows the man capable of. He looks over his shoulder to wink at Rey. 

She frowns. 

“You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

“Something like that.”

Rey _almost_ rolls her eyes.

“Who are these _wanawake vijana_? Yours?” The woman does not bat an eye when Rey bristles at her choice of wording.

“They’re with me,” is all Kylo replies with which seems to be answer enough for his - acquaintance? friend? lover? 

Rey’s frown deepens even further at the curious look the woman and her men send her way. 

“Come with me,” the woman says in an artfully lilted accent. “It will not do for us to stay out here much longer.”

Kylo walks forward to join them. Rey does not. 

Eyeing the woman with obvious suspicion, she demands, “Who are you?”

Kylo glances back at her with raised eyebrows, but she stays her ground. He might have saved them tonight, but she is starkly reminded once again that this does not make them allies. 

“A friend,” the woman replies with a slight bow of her head. Rey glares at her, but before she can question her further, she gestures towards the lightning sky and beseeches her once more. “Come, please. It is not safe out here.”

And so, with little choice, Rey sets off after Kylo and the woman into the dusky treeline. 

*

Not long after, they arrive to a wondrous sight. There are prisms, gigantic and made entirely from stone, constructed within the lush forest. Pyramids, Rey realizes, like in the stories she read as a girl. 

They must be in Egypt then. 

Just before the sun breaks with the horizon, they go through a large set of double doors leading into the largest of the pyramids. The men who accompany them close the doors, sealing them in darkness, and then promptly disappear down a long corridor off the main entrance.

The woman, whose name Rey still does not know, leads them down a different corridor, lit with archaic looking torches. There is a musty smell to this place, but it is pleasant all the same. Sweet and floral. 

Rey trails behind Kylo cautiously with Isabelle in her arms, taking in their surroundings in the event they have to make a quick escape. They go down several hallways and finally come to a large open room.

The walls appear to be plated with gold leafing. Ancient artwork and wall hangings cover the walls. Long, plush sofas and chairs line the centre of the room, where a short staircase leads to a rectangular dip in the room. 

That floral scent gets stronger the further they go and Rey realizes that the wall opposite to her is different from the others. There is no artwork hanging on that wall; instead, jasmine flowers seem to grow on the very wall itself, snaking up to the high ceiling. In the middle, there is a large web of painted lines leading every which way, from the ceiling to the floor. She cannot make out much of the details from this distance, but she suspects that there is writing on the wall, above pieces of the linework, but she would have to get closer to inspect it to know for sure. 

At the moment, she is far more invested in where exactly they are and who exactly this woman is. Isabelle is practically nodding off in her arms, what with daylight arriving at any moment now. She stays alert for both of them even though her limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. No matter how tired she is, she has no intention of sleeping in this place until she has some answers. 

Kylo walks side by side with the woman and the two murmur lowly to each other in that language again - likely so that Rey does not know what they speak of. At one point, the woman asks him a question and they both turn back to glance at the snoozing girl in Rey’s arms.

His answer, even though Rey cannot understand it, is decidedly defensive and they seem to quickly change topics after that. 

Rey does not even pretend to be sneaky when she probes his mind. She pauses by one of the couches and with all the strength left in her, she _forces_ her way into his head, attempting to take him by surprise. For one glorious second, she is sure her tactic has worked - until she proverbially runs face-first into an unsurpassable wall. 

Kylo jerks his head to the side and abruptly stops speaking, turning back to where she is rubbing at her head and glaring daggers at her. The woman turns back too and smiles, as though she is impressed. Like she can sense what has happened. 

Rey’s face twists into an ugly scowl. 

“That was not wise, _lila,_ ” Kylo begins in a warning growl. He seems to be at the very end of his patience tonight, but she does not care. 

If they were speaking about Isabelle, or anything else pertaining to them, then she has a right to know. 

“You can shove me against a wall another time, you beast. I want to know where we are. _Right now."_

The woman takes no notice of the turbulent energy between them and beams at Rey - much to her befuddlement. 

“You did not tell me she was a Skywalker."

“Yes, as unbelievable as that is at times. This is my sister, Rey,” he mutters, waving a hand in Rey’s direction like this is a suitable introduction. “And a huge pain in the ass, as well.”

“Likewise,” Rey growls at him. 

His lips lift into a snarl. 

“Alright, that is enough,” the woman interrupts before the two can launch into a furious screaming match.

God, he just has to be so damned impossible about _everything_. Rey tears her gaze off his to look down her nose at the woman. 

“And just who the hell are you, then?” 

“My name is Jannah Windu. I am the ruler of this palace.” 

“Where are we?”

“Not far from Al Ismailiyah - or North-eastern Egypt to a newcomer of these lands. If you had continued on your journey south, you would have come across the deserts before long. Here, at least, there is still greenery, though not the same as you would have come across in France.” 

“How do you know where I come from?” Rey aims a dirty look Kylo’s way, catching the clear impatience on his face with them to be down their little question-answer. 

Isabelle stirs unhappily in her arms and she shushes her gently, not taking her eyes off either of them. 

“Your accent, _macho ya kijani_. Don’t worry, I am not snooping about in your head.” Jannah’s eyes glitter like amethysts and for some reason unknown to Rey, she has to fight to uphold her own indignation.

There is something… pleasant about this woman. The richness of her voice, the way her eyes behold great power yet a trace of respect for her. No one has looked at her like that in a long time. Like an _equal_ and not something to be tortured or manhandled. 

Then Rey’s breath catches. She recognizes that phrase - _macho ya kijani_. Finn had once called her the very same thing. 

“My eyes are hazel. Not green,” Rey replies after a long pause. 

Jannah’s smile widens. 

“I thought all the pyramids were in the desert?” Rey asks suddenly. 

Kylo aims a withering look at her that she endeavours to ignore. 

“All the ones white men have written about,” Jannah replies with a permitting bow of her head. “No human knows of this one though and for good reason. It is enchanted against them.”

“Enchanted?” Rey repeats, her eyebrows wrinkling. 

“The Witch Clan of Babylon,” Jannah says dismissively. “It is in everyone’s best interest that this palace stays hidden. We are the Guardians of the Ancients and it would not do for the mortals to learn of this place.”

“Guardians of what -” 

But Kylo has had enough of her questioning it seems. 

He crosses the room in a blur and then grabs her by the elbow. “We should go to our rest, _mpendwa_ ,” he says to Jannah from over his shoulder, “Rey has had an _awful_ time sleeping lately.”

“Of course,” Jannah replies with a small, enigmatic smirk. “You remember where the bedrooms are, I assume?”

“I do.” He levels Jannah with a cheeky grin that does _not_ make a flash of something ugly and hot sear through Rey’s stomach. 

She angrily wrestles her arm out of his grasp and readjusts Isabelle in her arms. “I can walk all by myself, thank you.”

He mutters angrily under his breath and brushes past her to lead her down an adjoining corridor. Before they can leave, however, Jannah calls back to them once more. 

“You are welcomed for as long as you like… And I am interested to learn more about you, _macho ya hazel_. Kylo has not brought an interesting guest here for quite some time.” 

_Macho ya hazel._ Hazel eyes. 

Rey looks back at her, warily noting that her enigmatic smirk has not faded away, but then Kylo is murmuring for her to follow him. She would rather not test his patience more than she already has tonight. As she grudgingly obeys him, her gaze lingers on the strange wall with its jasmine flowers and bizarre lines. 

She was right before. 

She is fairly certain there are names written on that wall. Hundreds of them. 

*

Kylo brings them to two bedrooms with an adjoining door in between. There are no windows that Rey has seen in any part of the palace and though she is expecting to find coffins, the rooms contain actual beds. She immediately lays Isabelle down and pulls the covers over her. Though vampires do not _need_ blankets, the gesture is still one of familiarity from when she used to tuck her into bed every night. 

That seedling of dread has not left her guts, though. 

It remains, needling her insides and leaving the horrors from the ship fresh in her mind - for a long to come, she is willing to wager.

But Rey is not given very long to dwell on this troubling line of thought before a shadow falls over her. 

Without looking up at Kylo, she mutters, “What do you want now?”

“No thank-you, then? Of course, what did I expect, thinking that you would ever show an ounce of gratitude towards me.” 

Rey closes her eyes with a weary sigh. 

“Thank you Kylo,” she says woodenly. 

She looks up at him then, with all the weight of exhaustion from the last - god, _week_ she has had to endure. She finds little sympathy from him. He glares down at her from the length of his long nose, dirty and tired and irritable. 

She knows the feeling. 

“Well, that held as much sincerity as I’ve come to expect from you." 

“Would you like me to grovel at your feet then?” His eyes flash with anger but she only shakes her head at him. “You know, if you had listened to me in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

“So this is all my fault?” He says this in a dangerously low tone and she finds herself backtracking despite herself. 

“No. Not with this one thing, I suppose.” His nostrils flare at her choice of words but she is already turning away from him to stare down Isabelle. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s done. We just have to watch her from now on.”

Somehow, she doesn’t feel quite as sick to her stomach saying _we_ as she normally would have. Perhaps that is a sign that she is beginning to lose her mind. 

“Do you think I’ve forgotten?”

His hushed tone makes her turn back to him, her eyebrows wrinkled and her mouth fixing into yet another scowl, but then he leans down until their faces are inches apart. She is left with the dilemma of leaning away from him to escape his heady regard, but then she might disturb Isabelle. Instead, she pokes his chest and then pushes when he does not move away. 

“What are you on about now?"

“We are going to finish our conversation, Rey. Don’t think I’ve forgotten it because I haven’t.” 

His hand closes over her shoulder and then she is not worried about waking up Isabelle, or anything else. Despite her fatigue, her anger with him comes flaring back to life and then she is flying to her feet angrily to push him off of her. 

But before she can exact her fury, he has shoved her painting into her hands. It survived the ship, somehow, and she is left staring down at it with a feeling of hollow despair. 

_Somnium peruenerit._

Rey peers up at him and finds her own fatigue mirrored back at her. They are both too tired to have this conversation now, no matter what he has to say on the matter. She can barely keep her eyes open, let alone go another round with him. 

But she cannot deny that she wants to know what it all means. If he can drop his ego for two seconds and have a _decent_ , _normal_ conversation like the adults they are supposed to be, then maybe he can tell her what this _somnium peruenerit_ is all about. Then, they can eradicate her dreams and their appallingly bizarre connection, once and for all. 

“Fine. Let’s talk about it. But can’t it wait until tomorrow?” She does not mean to sound so imploring, but she cannot help it. Sunrise came and went a while ago. She is the kind of tired where her eyelids feel too heavy to lift and the skin around her eyes drawn, like fish hooks are attached to either temple.

He can’t be faring much better. 

Kylo’s eyes flicker with something too fleeting to be called surprise at her acquiesce. He heard her thoughts just now. Well good - then he can stop accusing her orchestrating these dreams on purpose. She is sick of his crusades, of his little _lessons._

And she is sick of him placing himself in her personal space. That most of all. 

“Another day, then,” Kylo says with guarded concession. “Let’s go to rest.”

“Good,” she mutters, but she does not relax until he steps out of her orbit and turns for the next room. Before he can leave, she can’t help but ask, “And just how long are we staying here with your _friend_?” 

He turns back to her with a huff of annoyance. “Not long - now stop your tireless clucking and _go to sleep_.”

Rey does not even have it in her to tell him off when he slams the door behind him. 

She turns to the bed with a tremulous sigh, nestles next to Isabelle and is asleep before her head even hits the pillow. The painting is hidden in her gown, but she can still see his face, all the way down into the darkness of deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German:  
> kleines Dummchen - little fool
> 
> Swahili:  
> Ni wewe, rafiki wa zamani - is that you, old friend  
> wanawake vijana - young women  
> macho ya kijani - green eyes  
> mpendwa - dear  
> Macho ya hazel - hazel eyes


	18. Für immer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His teeth scrape against her skin, and then he is kissing her neck again, growing bolder with each passing second. 
> 
> Is she - pressing her face into his hair? She does not realize that she has done so until it is already too late. His scent explodes into her nostrils. Vanilla, rain and something else, something dark and rich and secret. Something that is his and his alone, a scent that will haunt her for the rest of her life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Eighteen and they still haven't boned! I know, I was bummed too. 
> 
> As this is the longest burn I've ever written, I am relieved to say that we are heating things up finally. Things have been pretty ambiguous about Rey's dreams and what that mischievous brat Kylo is up to - but going forward, we will start to see some clarity on that. 
> 
> P.S. Apologies for the delayed update. Things are crazy at work now and my updates will be slower than normal for the foreseeable future. <3
> 
> Image One: Boomdafunk (Tumblr)  
> Image Two: Columbo  
> Image Three: SmallTitan (Deviant Art)

“I can’t believe Kylo saved her. From the ship, I mean.”

Rey shrugs. She adjusts her buns absently like she has done this a hundred thousand times. Which, really, is completely true. 

“He had his reasons. Some of which were selfish of course.”

“Hm. I don’t know if…”

Rey raises her eyebrow at Poe and waits for him to finish his thought. He does not look tired in the least, despite the fact that midnight has already come and gone. He looks _wired,_ as is the common lingo these days, like he could spend the next three days listening to her talk and he would be just fine with that. 

In front of him, his phone’s screen has powered off, but he assured her the device is still recording. She glances down at it, marvelling at the seemingly endless array of inventions humans have made for themselves. Vampires might have the edge in everything else, but she has to hand it to humanity. They have certainly found their own ways to adapt and survive. 

“What don’t you know?” Rey prompts when she is done fixing her hair. 

Poe purses his lips, seeming to chew on his words before leaning across the table to fix her with a questioning stare. 

“I think Kylo did it for you. Maybe for Isabelle too, but mostly for you. Because you asked him. Because he knew what it would do to you if you lost her.”

Rey almost smiles. 

This man is clever. She is glad she did not kill him when she found him in the cafe. It would have been a waste. In many ways, he reminds her of Finn. Sharp, perceptive and charming as all hell. The two would have been quite the pair. 

She will have to tell Finn that, the next time she sees him. 

“You think so?”

“I do,” Poe replies without batting an eyelash. “I also think he was already in love with you at that point. In fact, I would be willing to bet my year’s salary on it.”

Then, she really does smile, only this time it is not without some irony. 

“Love, for my kind, is defined quite differently than it is for humans.”

“Oh I’m not sure it’s all that different.”

“Really.”

“Look,” he says, raising a placating hand in the air like they’ve been debating this topic for hours. “I have no idea what it’s like to be - well - _you_. Or anyone from your kind, as you say. But it sounds to me that we’re not all that different. In some ways, anyway. Maybe the biggest difference is that you’ve had centuries to feel what we as humans only have decades to experience.”

“Are you saying that we love more?” Rey quips, tapping her long fingernails against the table. She is partly amused, but a little dismayed as well. Because this human - who is barely a day older than thirty-five - has defined their kind so effortlessly while she has spent the latter part of the last six hundred years held in suspension and mystery. 

“You told me this was a love story. I didn’t see it at first but now… I’m just saying that it's possible for even the vilest monster to feel something close to human. To even love someone else. Or am I wrong?”

She stares back at him for so long, he shifts with discomfort. 

“I chose well,” she finally murmurs, more to herself than to him. 

Poe looks surprised by her omission, but she is already gesturing towards the phone with a dismissive wave. 

“Let’s keep going. The hour grows late.”

When he shows no signs of interrupting again, she takes a breath and resumes. 

*

Kylo is not in his room when Rey and Isabelle awaken the next night, though it does not take her long to find him.

The tether strengthens with each passing day. Without any effort at all, she can sense that he is in the same room they were in last night; that large sitting area with the living wall and jasmine flowers. Jannah is with him and… four other vampires she does not know.

Rey helps Isabelle with her shoes, trying her best to hide her troubled frown. Jannah and Kylo clearly have history together - a fact which makes another twinge of jealousy alight in her abdomen. 

“Mama, where is papa?”

Isabelle sits on the bed with a petulant scowl, her blonde curls messy from sleeping. Rey hurriedly brushes her hair and makes small soothing sounds when she complains about the tangles. She is hungry again.

She will have to find her something to eat before too long. In fact, she is quite hungry herself, but her hunger can wait for now. 

After going through one of the wardrobes, she discovers a plain white gown that fits well enough and changes out of her ruined nightdress from the ship. Isabelle helps her tie the gown in the back, but before long, the girl is whining and holding her stomach. 

“I know, my love. Let’s go find Ky - _papa_. He will know where there is something to eat.” She can almost say papa now without scowling. _Almost_. 

“Okay,” Isabelle moans unhappily. 

She takes her by the hand and leads her out of the room. The hallway is silent and empty, yet she can sense activity elsewhere in the palace. There are many vampires here and from the gentle brush of her mind to theirs, she can tell that most of them have lived here for a very long time. 

But none as long as the mistress of this pyramid in the jungle. 

Before she lets her curiosity run away with her, she remembers that she has a very hungry child to feed and that she and Kylo still need to finish their conversation from yesterday. She is not sure how they will accomplish this. Not with the way the girl reacted the last time they shut themselves up in a room away from her. 

She peeks down at her as they cross the palace together, watching her but for what she does not know. While she suspected that Isabelle might do something reckless as a new vampire, she could not say she ever anticipated her burning down a ship. She wants to ask her about it but the timing isn’t right. She does not want to risk upsetting her and…

_Risk her burning down the entire palace this time? Would she really go that far?_

The trouble is that Rey does not know. Everything is new now. Isabelle would never have done something like that before - but she had been human then.

She will just have to do what she told Kylo; watch her closely and then question her, once they are truly alone somewhere that is not filled with his allies and vampires that she does not know or trust. 

Finally, they come to the main room. She pauses by the flowers with Isabelle, not quite in full view of the occupants of the room. 

This is far too good an opportunity to pass up 

“Mama,” Isabelle begins fretfully. 

“Soon, my love. I need you to stay quiet for a moment.” 

Rey tucks them against the flowers and allows her powers to surge to the forefront. She uses them to reach out like an invisible hand, passing through the minds of the people in the room beyond. Jannah and Kylo sit across from each other, their conversation subdued. He looks as imperious and commanding as always, taking up half the couch. He has been given new clothes and a new jacket, she can see. The collar is not quite as high as the last one and she notes the difference before she can think not to.

It suits him, she decides. She can see more of his jawline now. 

_Focus, you blithering idiot._

Isabelle whines in discomfort, though she does so as quietly as she can. She pets her hair distractedly, wanting just a few more moments of surveillance of them. The other vampires in the room are guards, she supposes. They hear and see everything. Each of them is entirely loyal to Jannah and they are… 

Her jaw very nearly drops. 

They are all her progeny. Every single one. There must be dozens of vampires in the palace and each one belongs to her. 

“What is it?” Isabelle whispers, seeming to forget her hunger for the time being. She might not be able to read minds the way Rey and Kylo can, but she is not stupid either. 

Rey stoops down so they are eye level with one another. “Can you stay quiet for a little longer? This is important.”

“Are you… spying on papa?” Isabelle asks hesitantly. Her eyes screw up when another hunger pang strikes her, but she valiantly attempts to ignore it. 

All other worries aside, Rey is proud of her in that moment. She brushes her hand against her cheek, wiping away some soot from yesterday's misadventures. 

“Not quite,” she answers carefully. “We do not know these vampires and I want to make sure we are safe here. Your… _papa_ makes friends a lot easier than I do.”

Isabelle stares back at her for a moment, blue eyes wide and unsure. Just when Rey thinks the girl will give them away, she swallows and nods. 

“I’ll be quick. I promise.” Rey smiles at her and turns back to the room. 

She takes her attention off of the guards now that she knows they belong to Jannah. They only listen to her commands, which means they might have better discipline than her siblings ever had. It is Kylo and Jannah she really wants to eavesdrop on. They are speaking quietly in the same language Jannah spoke to him last night.

Swahili, Rey realizes.

Closing her eyes to better focus, she presses as far into her mind as she can without risking detection. If she tried this with Kylo, he would know right away. She does not bother risking it now. 

At first, she hears nothing, but then, slowly, she begins to hear the woman’s thoughts, interspersing her and Kylo’s whispered conversation. She remains on the edges of her mind, just out of sight. 

And, miraculously, it _works_.

“...tasked me with finding her. You can imagine how angry Luke was. He loved that house more than - well. Let’s just say he does not like his things taken away.”

“Surely, he was angrier about the attempted murder of he and his entire progeny line? Houses are replaceable,” Jannah replies, a tad incredulously. 

Kylo laughs and once again Rey has to fight not to get distracted. When he smiles, even in cruelty, the effects are… well, distracting. To say the least. She used to hate his smile. She used to hate everything about him, but now -

She is doing it again. Damn that man and his stupid smile. She shakes her head as though this might clear her of her wayward thoughts. 

“I don’t think he truly cared about that. No one died, after all. Though Mitaka was badly burned.” He is smiling in a lazy, almost wistful manner when he says this.

Rey is alarmed to realize that she can feel some of his emotions after all. As he thinks of that night in the Manor - the night she very nearly killed them all - his mind is filled with grudging admiration. 

She does not know what to do with that, so she returns her attention to Jannah. 

“But she tried to kill you all. How could he not want to punish her for that?”

“Oh I'm sure he plans to punish her. There is just something... _poetic_ in what she did, as much as it might have infuriated my Maker at the time. The Skywalkers are a willful breed.” Kylo’s smile grows into a crooked thing that she has to force herself to look away from. “Rey is no different in that regard. I think he was quite proud of her to be honest.”

“And you?” Jannah asks softly. 

His jaw clenches, his smile all but fading away. It is a small thing, but she notices it anyway. How his eyes shift away from Jannah’s, just slightly. 

“I don’t concern myself with the theatrics of my clan. I’m running an errand for my Maker. That is all.”

 _Liar,_ Rey thinks to herself, almost in triumph. _You are lying, Kylo. But why?_

“I see,” Jannah replies, prosaically enough. Rey cannot see her face very well from this angle, but she can sense doubt in her mind. She is _sharp._ A hell of a lot more intelligent than most of the Skywalkers combined. “Then, what of the little girl? She is yours, no?”

It is truly wondrous to watch, the effortless way in which his mask slides back into place. His eyes are not quite flat now, but close to it and his smirk has returned, though there is little behind it. 

“Compromises, _mpenzi wangu_ ,” he replies with an enigmatic grin, “are overrated.”

Jannah laughs softly, but secretly, she thinks, _Wengine wako wapi? Luka yuko wapi? Ikiwa amempata, kwa nini hakumleta kwao?_

 _Where are the others? Where is Luke? If he has found her, why hasn’t he brought her to them_?

Rey draws back with a frown. 

That question had not occurred to her. For the last few weeks, she has been far more concerned with finding a way to escape Kylo and watching over Isabelle than to wonder over why he has brought them here, to the African continent. Perhaps the Skywalkers are here, but… she does not think so. From what Kylo said, he was the one who was assigned to the duty of finding her, likely because she bested him the last time they saw each other. This _task_ of finding her was probably a punishment from Luke over failing to prevent her escape at the Manor. 

So, where are the others then? 

Rey leans closer to listen once more when a small hand closes over her elbow.

“Mama,” Isabelle whispers urgently, but she already knows what she is going to find when she turns around. 

Isabelle presses into her side with a small whimper just as she straightens up. Behind them are two guards, eyeing them with open suspicion. One of them turns towards the room, likely about to give them away to his Maker. 

Thinking fast, she _surges_ into both vampires’ minds. A deep treble fills the air, like a tiny shockwave. Isabelle can sense it and she presses tighter against her, hiding her face against her stomach.

Rey does not waver. She holds herself, suspended in their minds, and when she issues the command out loud, she does so with absolutely no forethought at all. She is only following the current of her power and the thrum of instinct. 

“You will turn around and go back the way you came. You will forget you ever saw us here and not say a word to your Maker.”

For a long, tense second the guards blink back at her blankly. 

Then:

“We will turn around and go back the way we came. We never saw you here,” they say at exactly the same time.

If she had the presence of mind to notice, she would have been unnerved. 

“Go,” Rey tells them and then they do just that. 

She does not breathe until they are gone and then curls her fingers in Isabelle’s hair, blowing out a relieved sigh. 

Isabelle peeks up at her, shivering slightly. “Can we eat now, mama?”

“Yes, my love. Of course.”

Taking a pacifying breath, she leads Isabelle into the room. Jannah gets up to greet them warmly, even going so far as to embrace Rey. She bears this stiffly and tries to clear her mind of all panic or guilt for her eavesdropping. 

From the couch, Kylo cooly appraises her. He does not appear to be suspicious, but she does not trust his little mask. Not when he has fooled her so many times with it.

With no warning, Isabelle detangles herself from her and runs to him, hugging him as though he had not angrily berated her the night before after she burned a ship down and nearly killed all three of them - as though she and Rey were not just listening on his private conversation and that she did not just mind-trick two guards away before they got caught. 

He appears visibly surprised and so is Rey. She thinks then that Isabelle might tell him after all, right here in this room in front of Jannah, but her daughter surprises her. 

“I missed you papa. Mama hogged all the blankets last night,” Isabelle announces, all smiles and bubbly childish charm.

"Did she?" Kylo replies, running one large hand through her curls.

"Yes. Can we go get something to eat?"

Rey is gobsmacked. 

“Let’s go find you something, then, shall we?”

He stands from the couch and leads Isabelle away, not bothering to extend the invitation to Rey. He must still be miffed at her from last night. 

As if she cares. 

Before the pair disappear down the corner, Isabelle glances back at her with a meaningful look in her eyes. Somehow, Rey is not relieved that they have become co-conspirators. She can only hope Isabelle is discrete and does not say anything. She has no idea what Kylo is up to now, but she intends to find out. 

“I think he means to stay another day, _macho ya hazel_ ,” Jannah tells her, using her little nickname from last night. “Though you are all welcomed to stay as long as you like.”

Rey smiles weakly. 

“That’s... great.”

*

After enduring Jannah’s company for an awkward few hours, Rey retires to her bedroom in a state of exhaustion. She slept fine last night - no dreams, no staying awake past sunrise. But still, she feels drained. 

She does not need to look to know that both their rooms are vacant. Isabelle and Kylo have not returned yet, though she knows roughly where they are if she focuses hard enough.

Deep in the palace - in the kitchens? 

Rey is not sure, only that she stops listening in when she realizes they are about to drain some human servants. She sits on the bed with a sullen sigh. The sheets are soft under her hand and as she absently brushes her fingers against them, she wonders how she ever hopes to wean Isabelle off humans. It almost feels pointless right now, as much as that pains her to admit it. 

Kylo is Isabelle’s Maker, for better or for worse. Even she has to admit that he has treated the girl well - better than Luke ever treated her, anyway. When the time comes… Can she really tear the two apart? Is such a thing even possible?

Isabelle might be covering up for the fact that she was spying on them earlier, but she did so under the pretense that Rey was not really spying on Kylo. He is her Maker and she is her mother, for all intents and purposes. They are her parents now, no matter how much that irks her. She needs only look at what happened when Isabelle thought they were fighting too much. 

What would happen if she tried to leave Kylo?

Maybe, she can convince him to abandon the Skywalkers. She could learn to tolerate him if - and only _if_ \- he agrees to her terms. Things would have to change, but she is willing to at least consider it. For Isabelle. If he has not brought them to Luke yet, then perhaps there is hope. 

She flops down on the mattress and stares up at the canopy hanging over the bed. The fabric is translucent and silky. Beautiful, bright colours - red, blue and gold. It is not long before she becomes mesmerized, her senses dulling out. She is so damned _tired_. Her skin feels paper-thin, stretched over weary bones. She knows she has not been feeding as much as she should. Ship rats really do not provide much sustenance and now that they are here, she has not spotted any vermin to feed on. She hopes they will leave soon. Then, she might be able to find prey out in the wilderness. 

Soon, her eyes slip closed. She’ll just lay here for a while. She did not have any dreams last night - that she could remember. Maybe Kylo was wrong, for once. Maybe she’ll just...

*

…blood dapples the sand in scarlet, muddy droplets. 

Ocean waves crash to shore, but the sound is far away. Unimportant next to the thrill of death coursing through once chilled veins, now scorching with tenuous life.

The world seems smaller to her than normal, the sand beneath her boots far away and her vantage point higher. She knows where she is going even though she does not understand how she got here. There is a magnet under her skin, in the marrow of her bones, and it is telling her that she must go back.

She stalks away from the beach, boots digging deep in the sand and long arms swinging. She goes deeper into tangled undergrowth, then up a gigantic sloping mountain dotted with spiky lobelia deckenii, towering bole trees and luscious fireball lilies. 

Somehow, she is finally beginning to understand that this is not a dream. Not really. She knows what lies on the other side of the blackness in her mind, through the veil that has been unsurpassable for so long. The blackness that greets her in her sleep is a portal of sorts - but is not to another dream because the blackness is not taking her to her own mind. Like her, it is bound to an unknown edict that brings her back to the same place every time.

It is the tether again. It pulls tightest when she is most vulnerable. When she is asleep. And it has taken her where it inevitably always takes her. 

This mind that is not her own - she wears it like a second skin. There is familiarity but only because she has experienced this mind from the outside. Now, she is in it like being dropped headfirst into a vat of boiling water. She does not want to be here. She is not _welcome_. 

But her Maker is calling her and she cannot refuse him. Not even here, in this dream that is not a dream, and in this mind that is not her own. 

Long, thick fingers reach up to her face and brush away the blood clinging to her chin. The fingers belong to a hand that is attached to this body, even though they are not her own; a paradoxical riddle that makes her dizzy the longer she thinks about it. Her skin is warm with fresh blood and again she thinks about the woman with the pretty voice. She does not want to acknowledge the regret looming over her shoulder. Guilt makes her steps heavy and unsure. 

To her astonishment, she realizes that this guilt is not really hers. It is borrowed from the mind she is currently hijacking. 

Yet, even now, her ( _his_ ) thoughts turn to stern admonishments. All those petty human emotions grow vaguer with each passing day - a relief, where there is really little to be found. Guilt is as pointless as trying to race one’s shadow.

There is only power, glory, and honour to be had. 

She ( _he_ ) comes upon an ancient castle nestled within the foothills of a great mountain range. This is where her Maker is; she can sense him in there, with the others. Making their little plans, having their seemingly endless meetings where they discuss the world and all its boring secrets. She has never been interested in politics, not even when she was still alive. She ruled, yes. But everyone obeyed her, whether in fear or respect, or some combination of both. She never bothered with pleasantries, kissing ass, or asking for permission. 

And she does not scheme. Everything is in the moment. Unplanned, unhurried. She ( _he_ ) can feel currents in the air - she could before when she was still human and she can now in this black afterlife. Currents, instincts, intuition. They serve her well. She does not need a petty Council and their little plottings to steer her where she needs to go. 

Her Maker, on the other hand, feels quite differently. 

The air is colder up here, even though she cannot tell the difference. Thinner, as though the lines between this reality and the next world are paper’s edge thick; sinuous where they meet. How long her Maker plans on staying in Mombasa is anyone’s guess. He never shares his plans with her, never tells her where they are going next and for how long. Mostly, she has not cared to question him. She is young and far too starved for blood most of the time to really care either way. 

Sometimes, she ( _he_ ) thinks of home. Of _mutter_. She wonders if she will ever return there, but this question seems less important with the passage of time. 

She comes to the bottom of the foothills and stares through the thick foliage, up to where the castle stands. She has never seen anything quite like it. In Rome, the structures had been vulgar, grandiose and droll with faded limestone. On sight, she hated Rome instantly. Wealth and opulence had never impressed her - had, in fact, disgusted her more times than not. Her Maker enjoys the finer things that the civilized world has to offer, but she could not care less where she sleeps as long as there is blood and someone around to fuck. 

Still, even she cannot deny that this castle is something else entirely. Forged in smooth granite, cut through with pillars of pure marble and interlaid with beautiful gridlocks of stone pathways and lush gardens that hum with insects and wildlife. She takes a moment to savour how high the castle stands above her, with its spire reaching seemingly sky-high. Most mortals would baulk at the sheer height - at the dizzy wave of vertigo and fear. She relishes it. 

And then she _leaps_. 

Power surges throughout her entire body, a power that has grown exponentially more potent over the last few months. She can jump to impossible distances - as she does now - and can utilize many other abilities as well. Some of which not even her Maker is aware of. 

She ( _he_ ) lands soundly in the middle of the courtyard leading through the palace gates and makes her way through the lower gates. Guards, hidden and unseen, are posted along the main entrance. She ignores them as she enters the castle. 

_Come join us in the dining hall, child,_ her Maker sends to her as she enters the palace. _You have strayed outside for long enough tonight._

Inwardly, she bristles at that address. She is no _child_. But even she can admit that she is still very fresh to this world. Her Maker has no qualms of reminding her of this when she steps out of line. Which is often. 

She has never been very good at following rules. 

_Yes Maker,_ she sends back to him, along the riptide bridging their minds together. She does not understand their connection, but she has accepted it. It is part of her ( _his_ ) very nature, all that hardened practicality and stoic pragmatism. Their connection just _is_ \- there is no use worrying herself over why or how. 

She walks through the dark palace, not seeing anyone along her way. Her steps are measured, proud and indelicate. Nothing about her movements is questioned, nothing is held in doubt. She is above all that.

She passes through a cavernous landing and comes to the long corridor that will take her to where the Council is meeting. She does not enjoy being held under their scrutiny, but she can’t very well run off and avoid it. The one and only time she had attempted to leave her Maker, he punished her grievously for it. She does not wish to repeat the experience. 

... _Ben_...

Shock floods her senses, turning her limbs to seized ligaments. She has stopped walking before her brain has commanded her to and she stares around her wildly, eyes flashing and blood running cold all over again. Instincts flare up - not quite in danger, but caution. Wariness. She is a trained killer, a trained _hunter_ and little escapes her attention. 

Yet she cannot see or sense anyone else in the immediate vicinity. She is alone but…

_This way, Ben._

She whips around, expecting to find someone behind her, but like before there isn’t anyone there. This is not her Maker calling to her. The voice is entirely unfamiliar, yet imperious. Commanding. She would know, since she speaks in the exact same way. 

This is the voice of a ruler. 

_Ben,_ they call to her again, though she is beginning to suspect the owner of that voice is female. She cannot quite tell, it is just a feeling. A whisper within the confines of her mysterious powers. 

And that name, that _name_ \- she ( _he_ ) has not gone by that name is a very long time. There is a curious tug in her navel, like someone has taken a hook and attached it there. Urging her forward. 

“Who is there?” she demands in a deep, arrogant voice. Imperious with command. 

And it is _very_ curious then that she is not at all surprised to note that the voice issuing from her mouth is nothing like her own. That the reason she feels so tall, so imposing and physically built is because these are not her legs, her arms, or her torso. The dark hair that brushes into her periphery is not hers. These eyes - even though she can see through them like they are her own - she knows they are not hazel, or amber. 

They are green. 

_I am waking up,_ she thinks to herself with vague bemusement. _I am dreaming. Or whatever this is._

_Yes, lila. Very good._

The voice that speaks to her now, that calls her _lila_ \- it is not the same one she just heard, beckoning her to follow them. But it _is_ the same voice that she spoke with, seconds ago. 

Still in the grips of the dream, she turns to look back at a darkened corridor she did not notice until now. That is where the other voice comes from - she is sure of it. She must go to them. There is not even a question in her mind of disobeying. 

But before she can step forward, a cold hand grabs her arm. Then, she is spinning around, a deep, bellowing snarl issuing from lips that are not really hers. But instead of seeing who has grabbed her, the room continues to spin; twisting and turning and denying her this last part of the dream. 

_Rey, come back. I think I’ve let you linger for long enough._

_He_ is there again, pulling her back, whispering in her head. Fingers curl into her hair - her real hair in the waking world - and gently urge her awake. 

_Just a little longer,_ she protests dreamily, not really aware of who or where she is in that moment. Everything feels doubled over - all thoughts, sensations and emotions split evenly in two. She is not whole anymore. 

That realization does not terrify her as much as it probably should.

She is falling, spinning, untethered to the world. She thinks to scream, to cry out for help. There is only one name on her lips when the end comes and though she is not overly surprised by that either, she is daunted by the plight of it all. 

Strong arms fold around her, enveloping her, _catching_ her before the fall. He is there again, speaking against her cheek. 

_Wake up, Rey. Wake_ -

*

“- up, my _lila_.”

Solid warmth is cuddled around Rey, an arm protectively thrown over her middle and a pair of legs pressed against her own.

It is not Isabelle lying next to her.

Rey knows this instantly, but she cannot find the energy to be concerned yet. Her hair shifts as fingertips comb through her silky locks. A vague pang of hunger twinges in her stomach and she grits her teeth against it. How long has it been since she last fed? The musicians on the beach, the woman who was singing - she feels like she just drained them, that their warm blood should be coursing through her veins. 

Yet her stomach is so _empty_. How can that be?

“I have what you need, my love.” 

It is his voice again, speaking near her ear. 

“Mmm...what… Where... are we?” Rey smells jasmine first though the scent is not as strong as it was before. Now, there is some other scent masking it from her. Creamy vanilla, rain and… 

Her eyes snap open. 

“Shhhh,” Kylo murmurs when she tries to sit up. 

His hand is suddenly pressing against her middle and he gently, but firmly, pushes her on her back. All she can see are his black locks, filtered through with weak candlelight. He is practically on top of her and this more than anything has her trying to push him off of her again so she can get some _space_. She can’t think with him pressed against her like this.

“You don’t need to think,” he says with a throaty chuckle that does _not_ make her stomach flutter with excitement. “You’re barely awake. Just relax, _lila_.”

“But… I have to go. She is calling me and I… have to go.” 

“Who? Who is calling you?” Kylo whispers and if he sounds a little breathless, neither of them comments on it. 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” 

She twists against him, still half in her dream. That voice - it was undeniable. Like quicksand. She has to obey it, she has to…

Kylo kisses her cheek and she makes a breathy sound, confused and aroused at the same time. Tingles shoot through her lower stomach, descending lower with each press of his plush lips into her cold skin. His hand drifts up her stomach, in between her breasts and then there are fingernails skating across the skin of her clavicles. Ghost-like and barely there. He kisses a trail to her jaw and presses his face into her throat, where he hums and burrows his nose against her with a deep, satisfied groan. 

“That was not your dream, _lila_. You were wandering again.” 

“She said I have to go to her. I didn't want to but…” 

Is she trying to justify this latest breach into his mind, like he has any right to her apologies? She should not be here with him like this. This is dangerous, but she does not know for whom anymore. 

Kylo inhales her deeply and she swears she feels his tongue against her skin. She does not shove him off of her - the thought does not even occur to her. She feels unmoored to reality and the soothing weight of his body against hers is the only thing tying her to the land of the waking. If he leaves her… 

“Hush, it’s alright Rey. I’m not mad anymore. I know you can’t help it.” 

His voice is dark and deep, richer than it usually is, like he has swallowed a vat of whiskey. The sound of him makes her want to push him away at the same time that she cannot think to be anywhere else. The thread between them - it feels different. Sweet, almost. Soft, without the tension that it normally has, spindling her insides to mulch. 

“Where… where is Isabelle?” Rey slurs at him. Because she should have been asking that as soon as she awoke. 

“She is with Jannah. She will be perfectly safe with her.”

“But…”

“Quiet now, Rey. I need to feed you.”

His teeth scrape against her skin, and then he is kissing her neck again, growing bolder with each passing second. And is she - _pressing_ her face into his hair? She does not realize that she has done so until it is already too late. His scent _explodes_ into her nostrils. Vanilla, rain and something else, something dark and rich and secret. Something that is his and his alone, a scent that will haunt her for the rest of her life. 

He does not stop peppering her with little kisses when he raises a hand towards the door. It _slams_ closed, rattling in its frame. The lock turns in place as his power fills the air, crackling static and sizzling might. 

“We should stop,” Rey thinks she says, but another kind of haze is settling over her, numbing her out to this moment and all that it will mean when this is over. This haze is not the same as her hunger, which is red and chaotic. This is all dusky pink. The colour of sun-faded roses, the colour of her lips - the same lips that are pressing into his hair even as she murmurs her hesitations against his scalp. “We need to stop, Kylo.”

Suddenly, he is laying on top of her, his powerful thighs sliding neatly between her parted legs ( _when did that happen_ , she thinks belatedly) but then the thought is promptly forgotten when he rests his full bulk against her. The material of her dress is thin and although she does not need to worry about the chill anymore, she can feel _him_ now. 

Once, on a night she has tried very hard to forget, she felt him this way too, only he had been pressed into her backside. The sensation of him is completely different now. _Now_ , he is pressed right against her womanhood. His length is just as hard and imposing as she remembers. Strangely, he is scorching hot against her cold, dead skin. Fresh, mortal blood pumps through him and when she shifts underneath him, squirming from the deep rasp of his growls and the way he _sucks_ the skin on her throat into his mouth, she feels his cock _twitch_ against her, right where she is most sensitive. 

Rey is suddenly glad for his discretion because when she lets out a helpless moan, she is anything but quiet. 

“Yes, _lila_. Yes my good girl,” he mumbles mindlessly into her ear.

He rocks against her again, this time intentionally. Her hips seemingly grow a mind of their own when she bucks back into him, chasing after the sweet pleasure cascading from her aching core. 

That is where she needs him. Inside her, in her blood and bones. Everywhere. All the hatred she feels for him, the resentment and fear, it all boils away. The tether between them seems to hum under her skin, coiling her closer and closer to Kylo. She can feel his lust, can sense his carnal possessiveness, his pleasure at her submission. His utter and total want of her. It is wild, this feeling, because it is not only his to own. She feels it too - all those blistering, conflicting emotions of want and domination, of desire and need. 

He makes a sound she has never heard before, something dark and magniloquent. There is a moment of clarity when she finds him looking down at her with those darkly green eyes. She pants underneath him, her fingers curling into the material of his sleeves. She thinks he might speak then, that he means to rub it in her face that she has finally given into him, even though a part of her will later blame this moment of weakness on the fact that she had woken up from her ( _dream? vision?_ ) in an inebriated state of confusion and disorientation. 

But even now, she knows the truth. She wants this, even though she shouldn’t. They are tied together, fates eternally dueling for control. Forever intertwined. 

He kisses her. 

His hand cups her entire jaw, his body curling tightly against hers as their hips grind together. His lips are as soft and plush as she remembers them to be, only now there is nothing gentle about the way he kisses her. He _conquers_ her mouth, lips pulling and sucking on hers, teeth nipping skin. Before she has time to process what is happening, his tongue sweeps into her mouth. The sensation is so foreign and unfamiliar that she recoils, but he only whispers soft, Vandalic encouragements against her mouth. Next time, when his tongue meets her, she tentatively licks back into his mouth. 

Kylo _growls,_ his back arching and his hips moving in tight, tortuous circles. The fabric of her dress is so rough against her sensitive nipples that she gasps with it. There is so much to feel - sensations everywhere, all over her body. She strains against him, her hesitations falling away as she chases after her own pleasure. She has no thoughts about where they are, _who_ they are, or anything else. They are just friction and light, breathy moans and two bodies seeking to become one. 

Then, he tears his mouth off hers. His eyes sparkle darkly at her and she can see just a hint of it now - the wolf inside the man. She thinks he might bite her then and she thinks she might let him. His fingers drift across her arm, over the indentations of the bite he left her with. She longs to touch the scar on his face, but does not quite dare. All she can do is writhe underneath him and wait for what he will do to her. 

But as always, he surprises her. 

“You drive me fucking insane, _lila_ ,” he whispers harshly, gripping her face hard and rubbing his nose against hers in a move that feels far too affectionate for the dark things she can sense in his mind. “But I won’t have you like this. You are not yourself right now and I can already hear your shrill accusations before you utter them. Consider this… a taste.”

He smiles faintly at his own wording and then, belatedly, Rey realizes why. 

Kylo brings his wrist up to his mouth and bites the skin there. She watches him, first in confusion, and then in ravenous hunger. His blood - that is where the scent comes from. Sharp, sweet and _creamy_ though she does not know how that could be. 

And really, she does not care at this point. 

He lowers his dripping wrist to her slowly, but then she lunges with impatience, latching onto the oozing wounds with a deep, satisfied hum. Blood has never tasted this good. The animals she has been feeding on for five years - they do not hold a candle to the rush she experiences consuming him. She has seen vampires do this before, but she never thought - she _never thought_ it would be like this. 

Kylo’s eyes close as she sucks his blood into her mouth and he moans uncontrollably, straining his cock against her as though he cannot help it. He drops down on her again, rubbing his face against whatever skin he can find. Wet lips brush against her ear and then he is whispering to her again, in a mixture of English and German. 

“ _Mine,_ ” he snarls into her ear and for that one brief moment in time, she does not disagree with him only because he is hers too. His blood, his scent, his everything. “...one day, Rey, you will be mine… all will be as it was always meant to be…”

The last of his words fade away and Rey descends into a comforting lull, no longer frantic. She lessens her grip of his arm, no longer taking his blood in aggressive pulls. When he draws his wrist away, she whines, but even that sound is weak. His blood has restored her and with it her senses slowly return to normal. They are limp against each other now, even though neither of them has found the completion they so desperately need. Her core throbs needfully and his cock - she feels it twitching against her as though it too senses just how close he is to being inside her. 

He finally draws up far enough so that he can peer down at her. She can see her own eyes reflected in his, glowing amber and giving her away. 

“What is this?” Rey whispers to him. “What is happening to us?”

“ _Für immer_ ,” he rasps at her and the words are like a thrill of fate in the air, resonating deep within her, in a place she never knew existed. With the care one would normally bestow on an infant, Kylo reaches up and brushes her hair away from her face. “It is time that you and I talked, Rey. It is time you learn what we are.”

Her heart drops like a stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili:
> 
> mpenzi wangu - my love  
> Für immer - forever


	19. Dyad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t understand what this has to do with me.” She sounds more apprehensive than petulant now because that word - dyad - strikes a chord within her. It is familiar when it has no right to be - when she has never even heard of that word before - and yet she cannot deny the feeling of fate closing in all around her. Stronger, with each passing second. 
> 
> “Don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of shifting POVs in this Chap and some plot development, yo! We get to see some old faces and get to see some very familiar (and canon) ones as well ;)
> 
> This will not be the last we see of the Kylo and Rey's siblings, or of Jannah Windu for that matter - but going forward, we will be focusing some more on this strange little family we have been building and some new (and some old) supernatural characters. 
> 
> Also, on a separate note, - I love Rose's character in the movies. It really does suck that she, along with Finn, got majorly sidelined in TROS (I mean, among other troubling aspects of that film). As much as I love Adam Driver and Daisy Ridley and as much as their acting/chemistry/storyline was doubtlessly compelling and just fucking amazing really, I was sad that Rose and Finn did not get the screen time they deserve. That being said - Rose in this story just fell naturally into the villain category, at least as far as her character arc goes. Just want to make sure I am not offending anyone with the way her character is portrayed here <3
> 
> See the endnotes for translations. 
> 
> Image One: the-psychodelicate girl (Tumblr)  
> Image Two: Rose Tico (The Last Jedi)  
> Image Three: Claudia by Ichiko-chan (Deviant Art)

Her name was not always Jannah Windu, Guardian of the Ancients. 

Born in a small village in northern Africa, her parents had named her Agerzam, which roughly translates to “cheetah” in Amazigh, her native language. She can still remember her mother's voice, soft as feathered wheat, calling after her to _slow down_ _silly girl_ , _you go so fast you will forget your head._

She was a child when he found her wandering the desert alone. Her parents had died months before of dehydration, but not before they showed her where to hide when the raiders came and how to find water. They were too weak to care for her by the end and so she had buried them as best she could in the sand, covering their eyes with small scraps of silk from her mother’s dress. 

Barely skin and bones and rot already festering in the cold sores on her face from malnutrition, she walked during the night and slept during the day. By the time he found her she could barely get to her feet at all. 

She supposes she only survived for so long out of sheer stubbornness. 

A long, dark shadow fell over her - that much she remembers. She turned sharply to find a man standing only ten feet away from her. His feet were buried in the sand, his long beige cape billowing with the wind. The night had been clear and the moon full. She could see every detail of his face. His shiny bald head, his dark caramel complexion and his dark eyes, glittering with flecks of red. 

Then he spoke to her. 

“ _Mtoto wangu, angalia umekupata nini_ ,” he said to her, voice smooth and rich with wisdom and repose. “Why are you out here alone, child? Where is your mama and papa?”

She did not trust easily, not after the raiders had stolen her home and lands, and everything else she had ever known. She wanted to tell him that she was dying and that she was glad for it. Her parents were waiting for her on the other side and she would not have to spend another night alone in the desert. 

But this mysterious man had other plans for her. 

“Oh no, dear child,” he said, as though she had spoken her thoughts out loud. “No, no. You are strong and brave. It would be a waste to leave you here to die. You shall come with me.”

And she did. 

He scooped her into her arms and although she was delirious and on the brink of death, she remembers the way he took off from the sand like a great bird of prey, his robes flapping aside them like massive wings. They flew up and up, towards the gigantic moon in the sky. His skin was cold. Dry and ageless. She did not understand but she would soon. 

“Did he… turn you, like my papa turned me?”

Jannah pauses in her story to glance down at the girl sitting next to her on the silk cushions of the prayer room. Incense burns, and pink hibiscus blooms grow along the walls, much like the jasmine in the atrium.

Isabelle gazes up at her with fascination and ill-concealed longing, yearning to know more about their kind. A child born to a world darkness and death. 

“He did,” she tells her gently, “but not on that night.” 

Jannah smiles in remembrance. Unlike most vampires she knows, her turning was a peaceful event. There was no fear or horror, no violence. It was her choice in the end. Her Maker had waited until she came of age, until she was old enough to understand what that decision meant. 

“What was your Maker’s name?” Isabelle folds her legs together, flitting her small nimble fingers through the curling tendrils of smoke coming from the incense. 

“Mace Windu. And there is no “was” - he is still alive.”

“Is he here?” Isabelle pauses, peering up at her shyly. 

“No, child. He has matters to attend to elsewhere. He visits from time to time, though.”

“Oh.”

Jannah watches her play with the smoke, her head tilted in consideration. The girl is inquisitive, beguiling and yet… There is a flicker of a shadow in her eyes. She acts much younger than her age as well, rather like a small child than a girl about to enter womanhood. But, she supposes, the girl will _never_ enter womanhood. She was robbed of that experience. 

“It was my choice.”

Jannah draws back in surprise, her eyes not quite narrowed. 

“What?” It is a stupid question but she is thrown off, which does not happen to her very often. 

“I chose to become a vampire,” Isabelle says, still not meeting her gaze. She flicks the smoke, breaking apart the gentle spire and dispersing it everywhere. “My mama did not want to turn me, so I found the shears in our kitchen and slit my wrists. I bled quite a bit, even though I don’t remember much. Then papa saved me.”

The way she says it - so matter-a-factly - chills Jannah to the core. 

“Are you angry that your mama would not turn you?” 

“Not anymore. We’ll be together forever now. We’ll always be a family.”

Isabelle finally looks up at her and in those blue eyes Jannah sees nothing. Not a glimmer of emotion - _nothing_. She wonders if Kylo knows that the girl can read minds. She wonders if Rey knows too. She almost has half a mind to go to them right now and tell them but… he was adamant they not be interrupted. 

Even though she is _extremely_ curious about whatever is going on between the two of them, that all feels pale and unimportant next to the strange vacancy in this girl’s eyes. 

“Isabelle,” Jannah begins quietly, “what happened on the -”

But she never gets a chance to finish her question.

One of her guards runs into the room and then she is on her feet in the time it takes to blink. Isabelle quickly follows suit and it is like a magic trick the way the cold blankness leaves her expression, to be replaced with a shy, scared little girl once more. 

Jannah isn’t convinced, but this is not the time to address it. 

“They are requesting entrance,” her guard - Immanuel - tells her in a rush. 

“Who is?” Jannah demands imperiously. 

“The Skywalkers. They are demanding to see Kylo.”

Isabelle makes a small wounded sound, but Jannah does not bother sparing her a glance. 

_What trouble have you gotten me into this time, Kylo?_

“Is Luke with them?”

“No, my lady,” Immanuel replies, “but his daughter, Rose and his son Hux are out there now. We suspect the others are lingering nearby. They said they are here on orders from their Maker to collect Kylo and...”

His gaze jumps to Isabelle before returning to her. He does not need to finish his sentence for her to know why they are really here. Someone - one of her guards, or perhaps a spy outside the palace grounds - tipped them off that Kylo is here. When she discovers who that person is, she will personally enjoy eviscerating them. 

But that will not help them right now. She needs more time. Kylo obviously has not told his Maker that he found Rey and the girl. That much she knew the moment she questioned him on the matter. 

She just does not understand _why_. Or she does, but she just can’t believe it.

“My lady?” Immanuel murmurs when she has been silent for too long. “What shall we tell them? They weren’t very happy when we told them to wait outside.”

Jannah nearly snorts at that. 

She remembers Rose and Hux all too well, the pernicious little snots. How in the world Luke thought it would be wise to turn those rabid curs into their kind is beyond her. Centuries ago, he came to stay at their palace - one of many times. On that occasion, he brought Kylo and his newest progeny with him - Rose, Hux and Finn. Rose could barely stand to keep Kylo out of her sight the entire time they were here and Hux - well, he might be a good hunter. She will give him that, but he is a simpering sycophant with the morals of a rat.

Though, she always liked Finn, even though she always sensed a great sadness in him. 

No matter her feelings about them, she will not be able to prevent their entry into the palace forever. Especially if they are here on Luke’s orders.

But she is loyal to Kylo - she will _always_ be loyal to him first. She is not in love with him, but there is real affection between them. Mutual respect. 

She will buy him a little time if she can. 

Her expression clears and that aura of power and command reasserts itself once more. She has a plan but they will have to be quick about it. 

“Tell them I will come out to speak with them once I have finished with my affairs,” she instructs the guard stiffly. 

“But -”

“You will tell them this, Immanuel. If they don’t like it, they can stand by my front door until the sun comes up - I do not answer to Rose Tico or Armitage Hux."

Her eyes glimmer violet for the barest instant and he bows his head submissively. He leaves the room after that to follow her orders. 

She turns to Isabelle with an imperceptible sigh. 

“Come with me, child. Your time in my palace has been cut short, it seems.”

*

Rey is relieved when they disentangle themselves from each other. Sanity has returned again, but even so… a strange little pang goes through her when Kylo steps away from her. She finds that she does not quite regret it as much as she ought to - touching him, kissing him and - any of it. 

She primly fixes her dress and hair, and then sits on the edge of the bed, cheeks glowing from fresh blood and not quite able to meet his gaze. Maybe it’s time to stop running away from this. She does not want to give into him - whatever just happened between them, she can’t afford to let it happen again, no matter how conflicted she feels about it.

At least, now though, he might be able to tell her what it all _means_. 

“Speak then,” Rey murmurs. 

She can feel the gentle press of his mind against hers, not quite breaching her thoughts. Almost like he is trying to canvas her emotions. She does not bother trying to stop him; she only squirms under his gaze, trying and failing to put the last ten minutes out of her head. The way he ground his hips into hers - 

His eyes darken, lips parting on a sharp exhale, and she decides it is far too dangerous for her to be thinking about any of that right now. Or ever, really. Especially when they are in such close proximity, with a door closed between them and the rest of the world.

“You don’t regret it."

Her nails bite into the flesh of her palm as she squeezes her hands into fists. 

“I was half out of my mind, Kylo,” she snaps, but even she can hear the shaky quality of her voice. “And you took advantage, in typical fashion.” 

But that’s not really the same as saying no, is it?

His jaw shifts and she knows he is thinking. Lips shifting, dark eyes inscrutable. That he is likely strategizing right now, like a wolf hunting its prey. Yet rather than exploit this moment, as he normally would, he throws her completely by surprise when he drops the subject entirely. 

“You remember what I told you on the ship?” 

Rey frowns at him and then her expression clears when she recalls that odd phrase he told her. 

“About _somnium peruenerit?_ ”

He smiles then, pleased that she remembers. “Yes, _lila_. Do you know what it means?”

She forgets to be uncomfortable when she sees the translation in his mind and the way he is so easily presenting it to her. She realizes why this feels so strange just a second later - they are almost being _cordial_ with each other. 

_Well, his tongue was just in my mouth, so I would hope so._

And then she is uncomfortable all over again. 

“It means ‘the dream has come’.”

“Close.” There is a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that was not there a second ago like he knows _exactly_ what she was just thinking about. But again, he does not comment on it.

She does not know whether to be suspicious or grateful. 

“That is the technical translation,” he says, walking over to a chair in the corner of the room, where he must have lain his jacket while she slept. He pulls it on and she ignores the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch with his movements. “To our kind that phrase means has an altered meaning.”

“Well, are you going to tell me or make me guess all night?” 

Surprisingly, he does not get angry with her outburst. On the contrary, his smirk widens. 

“For our kind, this is an extremely rare ability. It only presents under even rarer circumstances.” 

Despite herself, she perks up. Intrigued, fearful and nauseated with anxiety, she gives him her full attention. 

“Thousands of years ago, our kind was birthed from two vampires. It is a mystery how they were turned, but what is known from the ancient texts housed within this very pyramid is that they were connected. They shared everything - any power that one possessed, the other had. Flying, telepathy, telekinesis, glamour - all of it was shared between them.”

“Alright…” Rey says hesitantly, but he is already speaking over her. 

“They shared dreams, too. Visions, if you will.” In his eyes, she sees a feverish light that makes her more than a little uneasy. “ _Somnium peruenerit_ ,” he says in perfect Latin, “roughly translates to the dream has come. For our kind, it means the dream is coming _true_. And for them, it did. They became the most powerful vampiric rulers of their age. Legends to those of us alive today. There have not been any two vampires like them ever since.”

“What do you mean?”

She can anticipate where this is going and why he is so seemingly fixated on her dreams. Legends, power, greatness - these are all fixtures for Kylo. 

“They were a dyad, Rey. Two sides of the same coin.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

She sounds more apprehensive than petulant now because that word - _dyad_ \- strikes a chord within her. It is familiar when it has no right to be - when she has never even _heard_ of that word before - and yet she cannot deny the feeling of fate closing in all around her. Stronger, with each passing second. 

“Don’t you?” Kylo whispers softly, his smirk fading away. 

He approaches her then, steps slow and measured. She watches him warily, her breath catching when he drops to his knees before her. He takes both her hands in one of his (because by now she knows he only needs one to do it). His eyes are green again, filled with eagerness and lust - but she does not know if it is lust for her, or for the potential of the things laying at their feet. She remembers how it felt to walk in his shoes, to _be_ him in her dreams.

She is beginning to understand him better than she even knows herself. 

“You said…” Rey trails off, but when he waits patiently and does not speak over her again, she finds a way to continue, “before, you said ‘it is time to learn what we are’. You meant you and I - didn’t you?”

“Yes.” 

The way the candlelight hits his hair softens him somehow, but she is far too terrified to act on her strange impulses with him; to touch that hair again, that _achingly_ soft hair, and collapse together because if he is saying what she thinks he is saying then…

“You already know, _lila_.” 

She starts to shake her head because _no,_ she doesn't know anything anymore, but then he leans forward and squeezes her hands.

“Or have you always known? You just locked it away somewhere, hiding from the truth like you always do. But you can’t hide from this.”

A bloody tear escapes down her cheek and he leans forward, quick as light, to kiss her skin clean. 

“Are you saying that we’re - what - sharing dreams? Because we are like them? We are…” 

But she can’t even say that word out loud. She is too shocked, too horrified. There is also another part of her, small yet sure, that knows he is right. 

_Dyad_. 

“But how?” She leans away from him, trying to hang onto any other emotion that is not helplessness. “How is that even possible? It was chance that you and the others found me. You could have passed by my house and killed some other family and you never would have -”

He cups her cheek, cutting her off from speech. He holds her gaze, his words measured and calm in the face of her growing hysterics. 

“No, Rey. It was not chance. We were always destined to find each other.”

 _Für Immer,_ he had told her. 

But she cannot accept that. This is insanity - even for him. Destiny, fate - those things do not exist. They can’t if she is to retain any part of herself that is still human. She goes to tell him as much, when suddenly the door to their room flies open. 

Isabelle runs to them, her face a pale oval of fear as she throws her arms around Rey and Kylo both. They are each too surprised to stop her, her words dying on her tongue as a sense of urgency fills the air. 

“Isabelle-” she says haltingly, but then she looks up and finds Jannah standing in the doorway. 

She can feel the way every muscle in his body locks at once and then he is on his feet, a thunderous expression on his face that is not entirely from anger. 

He is afraid and this more than anything has her flying to her feet. 

“Where are they?” 

Jannah appraises Kylo calmly, but from the stiff line of her jaw and slight narrowing of her eyes, Rey can tell she is angry - with _Kylo_ of all people. 

“Outside the gates.”

“Who?” Rey demands. 

Her question goes ignored. 

“How much time can you give us?” 

“Twenty minutes,” Jannah replies. 

“That should be enough.” Kylo runs a hand through his hair and then turns to the vanity. Hidden in one of the drawers, he takes out Rey's painting and stuffs it into his jacket. He grabs Isabelle’s doll off the bed and gives it to her, placing a distracted kiss on her forehead as he turns back to Jannah. 

“ _Kylo_ ,” Rey snaps, but he will not look at her now. 

“There are tunnels below the palace,” Jannah tells him, “They will take you to the sea. From there you can make your way west. I assume that is where you still mean to go.”

“West? To w _here_?” Rey demands, stalking around Kylo to stand between them.

His jaw twists with aggravation but she does not care. She has a sinking feeling she knows _exactly_ who is outside the palace right now, but she will be damned if she is going to be led around by the nose like a sheep.

“Tell me what is going on right now!”

Isabelle whimpers into her chest. 

“We’re leaving,” Kylo announces and when he goes to step around her, her hand whips out, lightning-fast, to grab his arm and stop him. 

He does not bare his teeth at her, but she can feel tense energy humming beneath his skin. He is full of anxiety - a first, as far as she knows. This realization does nothing to calm her nerves. 

“You will tell me what is happening, Kylo."

He growls in his chest and then leans toward her, crowding her space. Isabelle whimpers once more, the sound small and terrified. Rey cannot help but growl back at him in muted warning. He can say his pretty words and kiss her all he wants - she will never just roll over for him and let him dictate where they go, at least not without a damned explanation first. 

Once again, though, Kylo surprises her. He relents, his expression faltering into something hesitant and unsure. Her own glare morphs into confusion, her grip slackening as she tries to decipher what his expression means. 

“Your lives are in danger, Rey,” he says slowly, carefully. Fright lances through her, keen and sharp, and she repeats over and over in her head, the way he says _your_ and not _our_. “We must leave now. Later… I will _compromise_.”

“You’ll tell me?” Rey asks because she does not trust him to twist his words around later and withhold the information from her. 

“Yes,” he murmurs and then his arm turns over in her grasp so his hand is clutching hers. “Right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

She wants to laugh in his face, to tell him _are you fucking insane? How could I ever trust you?_

But the only word that leaves her lips is, “Fine.”

He turns back to Jannah, who looks between the two of them with thinly veiled curiosity. She straightens up when he returns his attention to her and though Rey can sense she has half a mind to interrogate him herself, she somehow lets the matter drop. 

“You owe me, _wewe mpumbavu mpumbavu_ ,” Jannah tells him darkly. 

“I know.” Then, to himself, Kylo thinks, _I thought we had more time_. 

Rey glances at him when she overhears this thought, but she knows it is not the time to ask what that could possibly mean. 

"You will need to lead us," he tells Jannah hurriedly. "It's been centuries since I've traversed this palace."

"I remember."

Jannah appraises him with something very close to exasperation and though Rey cannot name the emotion she sees lurking in those lovely violet eyes, she can sense the speculation aimed his way. It occurs to her again that he is not acting in character - at least, not around Jannah. He has been behaving strangely ever since they arrived at this palace - ever since he arrived back in her life on Crete. 

Where was her punishment, after almost killing him and the others five years ago? Why was she not brought before Luke? And why is he protecting them now from who she knows to be at this palace’s gates, at this very moment?

Holding Isabelle in her arms, Rey gazes between Jannah and Kylo, feeling oddly excluded from their silent communication. Questions - she has far too many questions and far too few answers. He better stay true to his word after this, he better tell her what is happening and why his siblings are outside this palace demanding entrance, when he should have brought her to them to begin with. 

Jannah sweeps a hand towards the corridor, beckoning them with haste. 

“Follow me. We do not have much time.”

*

“ _This is unacceptable!_ ” 

Rose looks away from the large gilded doors to aim a troubled glance at Hux. He hovers nearby, a curl to his lip as he shoots the guards a dirty look. The guards will not give them entrance, and continue to aim mistrustful glares their way. Their mistress still has not come out to greet them.

It is all rather suspicious, coupled with the fact that she can very much sense Kylo inside the pyramid. She does not have the Skywalker power - that much is true, however much she loathes to admit it - but she can sense when one of her siblings is nearby.

And he is in there. She knows it in her blood. 

“Ten minutes,” Rose murmurs to Hux, careful not to let the guards overhear. “Then, we storm the gates.”

Hux glowers at the guards for another moment and then nods at her, pacing around the yard like a cooped up beast. The others are nearby; ready, for if - and when - she summons them.

She has gone through many moods in the last twenty minutes. Incredulous - that had been the first. Why would Kylo keep them waiting? Why had he come _here_ of all places? He and Jannah go back a long way, but still…

He was supposed to come home. _Months_ ago. 

That is when she had gone from incredulous to _furious_. The last time she saw him. they were staying in Mombasa at the Council’s Temple. She has been there many times before, of course. Like her brother, she was never wholly interested in politics. She is much more hands-on - preferring to get in the thick of battle and horror, to feel blood and bone within her hands. But Luke had bidden them to the Temple when their search for Rey had proved fruitless, choosing to instead utilize them to take out known Elyisum encampments for the last few years. 

When Rey (the dithering little cunt) burned down the Manor, their Maker had been in an uproar. And so had Kylo. They _all_ wanted her dead - at least, that was what Rose had thought at the time. They made hunting her down their top priority. 

But then the Nordic Enclave had been attacked by the Elysium Chapter, their temple burned to the ground and countless vampires lost. After that, Luke seemed to lose interest in finding Rey. He left that task with Kylo, and while Rose and the others had assumed he was hunting her down to kill her, and the little bitch child she likely had with her too, she now realizes that he never actually told them anything of the sort. 

"What will you do with her when you find her?" Rose had asked him, all those months ago.

He only aimed an enigmatic smirk her way and told her, "I will show her the error of her ways, little _roz_."

Gods, she has been so stupid! Kylo never meant to kill Rey - not then and certainly not now. She cannot quite sense her scheming little sister in the same way she can with Kylo, but she _can_ smell a hint of something all too familiar. Apricots and vanilla.

If she still had the ability to puke, she would have by now. 

_Is he in there now, with her? Are they lovers? Has she hoodwinked him with her virgin pussy and soft doe’s eyes?_ Rose cannot help but ponder as she stares at the closed palace gates, tuning out Hux as he angrily mutters to himself. 

Has she been a fool this entire time?

Every time she questioned Luke about going after him, he told her that Kylo was handling it. That she need not worry. Her Maker does not know they are here now - or, if he does, he is far too busy with Council matters to care much. She is here to bring Kylo home. 

And to kill that everloving bitch once and for all. The thought of him with that traitorous little mouse is enough to make her want to tear the pyramid apart, brick by brick. 

*

They take off down the corridor as soundless shadows in the darkened, ancient halls. 

Jannah leads them, taking them down twisting hallways and around too many turns to count. Rey can sense that they are underground now, the deeper they go. Kylo is just in front of her, and though she cannot see his face, she can sense that anxiety from him again, fresh and raw. 

She has so many questions - questions that he has promised to answer. She only hopes that she will get the chance to ask them. It does not take her much to ascertain that Rose is here - along with the others most likely. They never liked her to begin with - and now? They will tear her and Isabelle apart. She could try to fight them off, but there is only one of her and many more of them. 

“Mama,” Isabelle whispers feverishly, her arms wrapped over the back of her neck as they tarry through the winding corridors. 

“Yes?”

“Will we be okay?” 

“Yes,” Kylo answers before Rey can.

He looks back at them and now that they are deep in the bowels of the palace, there is very little light down here, save for the torch Jannah carries and the glow of their eyes. He catches Rey’s gaze for a second and it is then she feels his mind brush against hers, hesitant with comfort, like a gentle caress. 

Like he knows exactly the fearful thoughts running a mile a minute through her mind. 

“Everything will be fine,” Rey adds in agreement with him.

“I hope so,” Isabelle whispers against her shoulder and then clings even tighter to her. 

The stone in this part of the palace changes. It is no longer kempt, no longer that shimmering quartz but a faded limestone. While the rest of the pyramid had seemed old to Rey, this part is ancient in comparison. She wonders what it was used for, all those centuries ago, but then Jannah’s voice fills the corridor and she promptly forgets this errant thought. 

“Not much further. You may hear running water, but do not fear. There is an underground river that runs parallel to this corridor.”

Isabelle’s fingernails dig into the skin of her shoulders. 

Finally, they come to a halt before a narrow passage. Rey places Isabelle on her feet and shushes her complaints. She does not know how Kylo will even fit through it, let alone the two of them. 

“You must walk, my love. You can do that for me, can’t you?” she tells the girl gently. 

“But mama -”

“No Isabelle,” Rey says firmly. She catches Isabelle’s eyes to let her know that she is serious. “We do not have much time, my love. You must walk this part. Come now, you are my sturdy girl, are you not?”

She wipes some dirt from Isabelle’s face, her fingers soothing over the old scar there. To her relief, Isabelle tearfully relents and takes her hand. Almost against her will, she glances over to Kylo, noting with unease that he is leaning his face down to Jannah now. They are awfully close - far too close together for comfort. 

_He is not mine_ , Rey reminds herself. _I do not want him, so it does not matter._

Even so, she cannot help but watch them with far more avidness than someone should who feigns disinterest. Jannah stares up at Kylo gravely, taking one of his hands in hers. 

“One day, you owe me an explanation,” she tells him, not without a hint of warmth. 

He smiles down at her and it is there again - that burning pit of jealousy that Rey wishes did not exist. 

“ _Katika maisha haya au yajayo_ ,” he tells her lowly. Then, when he leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Jannah’s lips, that seed of jealousy _soars_ past the confines of simple envy - it bleeds into dark, murderous intent that Rey just _barely_ suppresses. 

This, however, is nothing compared to Isabelle’s reaction. 

A low, rumbling growl fills the narrow corridor and it takes her a moment to realize that it has come from Isabelle. The girl lunges forward, not quite out of Rey’s grasp, and swipes at Jannah’s face, missing her by scant inches. 

“ _Get away from my father_ ,” Isabelle snarls at her, blue eyes glinting murderously.

Kylo draws away from Jannah with a surprised hiss, but to Rey’s surprise, the calmest person in that corridor is Jannah herself. 

“Ah yes. There it is. There is the shadow behind the mask.”

Isabelle slowly withdraws to Rey’s side with another low growl. Jannah continues to regard the girl so intently that goosebumps prickle down Rey’s spine.

Then, she turns back to Kylo, looking far more harried than before. 

“You must go now. Take the corridor to the very end and then follow the river to the villages. There is a road that will take you where you seek.”

Kylo gives her a terse nod and then turns back to Rey, grabbing her hand before she can think to pull away. She is angry with him, of course. And about a million other things - things that, of course, have nothing to do with feeling a little betrayed that he had the audacity to kiss Jannah when not one hour ago, they had been… 

But she will not think about that right now. 

Isabelle throws Jannah a departing glare and then Rey guides her forward, keeping her between her and Kylo, where she will be safest. As they hurry past, she mutters a wooden ‘thank you’ to Jannah. She does not know what else to say that would not be fuelled by irrational jealousy. She _did_ help them, after all. 

Before Kylo pulls her down the corridor and Jannah disappears from view, the Guardian of the Ancients calls to her one final time. 

“Be careful, _macho ya hazel_. The child is not a child.”

Rey nearly trips over her own feet at those words, an icy feeling of horror going right through her. But then they have rounded the corner and she can no longer see Jannah anymore.

There is only the blackness of the tunnel and Kylo’s fingers threaded through her own. She will save her anger with him for later, once they’ve made it out of here alive and in one piece. 

It will not be until much later that she will realize that he never lets go of her hand that night. Not once. 

And that she, in turn, never releases his. 

*

“They were here. I know you are lying, Windu.”

Jannah remains as stoic as a statue as the Skywalkers search through every room in the palace. She stands in her atrium next to her beloved jasmines as Rose Tico glares at her from across the room. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Jannah replies with a shrug of her toned shoulders. “Unless these people that are supposedly here have somehow managed to learn how to walk through walls, then there is no one else here besides myself and my progeny.”

Rose glowers at her. 

Hux enters the atrium, eyes glowing red and a disgusted sneer on his face. “They’re gone.”

“If they were even here, to begin with,” comes a lofty reply. 

Jannah turns to see Finn enter the room. He looks the same as he did the last time she saw him. She meets his eye briefly and then looks away.

He knows very well that Kylo, Rey and their daughter were here, just as well as the others, but… There is a flicker of a smile on his face, too quick to be anything of substance. It is gone the second Rose looks his way and Jannah knows that it was just for her.

Maybe he has not changed, after all. Maybe there is still some hope for him. 

“They _were_ here,” Rose snaps, shoving off the wall and stomping across the room to stand before Jannah. She is a good foot shorter than her; a little ball of fury she would love nothing more than to swat, but she remains as poised as always. Which only seems to infuriate Rose more. “Where did you smuggle them off to? I can smell that little cunt over the scent of your putrid flowers.”

“Apricots,” Hux remarks, like he is describing the scent of faeces. “That bitch always stunk to high heaven of apricots.”

“I quite liked her smell,” Mitaka growls, prowling into the room like an ill-tempered dog. Half of his face is rippled in terrible scarring. Burns - from the looks of it. “I’ll enjoy ripping her fucking throat out even more.”

Jannah stiffens. 

“I think it is time for you to leave. You have searched my home and found nothing. There is no reason to stay now.”

Rose laughs softly, though there is little mirth in her red eyes. 

“I ought to drag you to the Council myself. Harbouring fugitives, aiding in their escape - I’m sure Luke would have a lot to say about that.” 

“Luke is busy with other matters."

Rose balks for a moment, clearly surprised that she knows just as much about his affairs as they do. 

Jannah smirks at her. “Do you forget who my Maker is, you _mjinga mdogo,_ or are you just as stupid as you look?”

Rose snarls and lunges forward, but she is right there to meet her, not giving up an inch of ground.

“The Elysium Chapter is revolting again. Not only up North but in several of the Eastern territories as well. I would wager that Luke would be far angrier if you wasted his time with your pathetic little vendetta.” The others growl with fury, but she ignores them. She steps closer to Rose, delighting in the way she has to take a step back to compensate. "We both know that’s all this really is. Your jealousy is infamous, little Tico. You’re the laughing stock of our kind - you and your heathen siblings.”

Hux surges forward, flying across the room to Rose’s side with his teeth bared. “And everyone knows you’re a glorified babysitter, Windu. Don’t pretend -”

“ _Enough,_ ” Jannah hisses. Her eyes flash purple and then, as though out of thin air, all of her progeny appear in the room, each armed with spears dipped in pure silver. 

Rose and Hux back off, their eyes widening with surprise and apprehension. 

“If you were not here on express orders from Luke, I would have detached your head from your body as your disgusting little tribe watched. If those orders actually exist, that is. You better pray I don’t report back to Luke about this and discover that you came here without permission,” Jannah tells Rose coldly. “The only Skywalker worth Luke’s name is Kylo.”

Rose’s teeth gnash together… but she will not strike against her. It is one thing to search her palace and another entirely to outright attack her. They have no proof - nothing physical anyway. She imagines Mace will have some words for her when she sees him next, but if she had to do it again, she still would have let them escape. 

“We’re leaving,” Rose seethes at her. “But _you_ better pray I do not discover that you were hiding Kylo and his whore here. I have plans for that bitch.”

“I’m sure you do,” Jannah replies, standing tall and proud by her wall of flowers as the other Skywalkers gather and go to leave the atrium. “Oh and Rose?”

Rose stops by the doorway and turns back to her with one of the ugliest looks that Jannah has ever seen. 

“What?”

“Never come back here, or I swear by all the gods that my floors will run with your blood.”

With one final glare of pure hatred, Rose turns on her heel and leaves, with her siblings in tow. Jannah does not relax until they have left the grounds and even then, she cannot find it within her to be relieved that they are gone. Wherever Kylo and Rey are going, they are in for a world of trouble. She thinks of the girl again, of the way she had turned from a scared little child into a vicious viper within a blink of an eye. 

She hopes, for their sakes, that Rey heeds her warning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Swahili:  
> Mtoto wangu, angalia umekupata nini - my child, look at what has become of you  
> wewe mpumbavu mpumbavu - you foolish brute  
> Katika maisha haya au yajayo - in this life, or the next  
> mjinga mdogo - little fool


	20. The Hidden Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, lila. I am not just protecting you.”
> 
> When did he turn her towards him? She does not know, only that she is facing him now, with little to no resistance at all. Suddenly, none of that matters anymore. She is in his head, she can see what he means to do if they do find them. 
> 
> “I am protecting them from me,” he whispers to her, and then his eyes are glowing - a fearsome shade of jade that makes her breath catch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooot! Some heavy tension for ya'll and we finally get some clear answers from Kylo. There is a LOT happening in this chapter plotwise (and also smutwise). 
> 
> Next chapter will be a rollercoaster so buckle up! 
> 
> P.S. Really start paying attention to some of those translations, there might be some hints dropped here and there of what is still to come ;) 
> 
> Image One: littlechmura  
> Image Two: heidihastings

Moonlight filters through the canopy of the jungle, the leaves and branches like blood vessels beneath skin. Beams of pale light scattered through the gnarled limbs of emeri and obeche trees, whose ancient oak has stood for hundreds of years. Bugs chirp and skitter in heady symphony, the song unknown yet as unmistakably ingrained into this lush cacophony of life and green. The fragrance of the Nandi flames flourishes here, orange petals fluorescent in scattered moonbeams. 

A lone gazelle drinks from the river, its fuzzy muzzle covered in droplets as precious as jewels.

Suddenly, the creature perks its head up. There are predators nearby, though they do not smell the same as the leopards and hyenas. Sharp, sweet, and undeniable - like the threat of a summer storm. The gazelle is instantly on alert. It’s fluffy tail twitches once, twice and then it takes off into the underbrush, gliding through the foliage like a ghost. 

Nearby, on the western embankment of the river, amber eyes watch the gazelle’s progress, uninhibited by darkness or distance. The creature is graceful and limber and those eyes observe it with something like admiration. It cannot know that it has nothing to fear tonight. 

This predator has already fed. 

“Mama, do you think there are sharks in this river?”

Rey breaks away from the gazelle and looks downstream to where Isabelle is bathing. She has the girl’s dress in her hands, her fingernails caked in dirt as she scrubs what she can out of the fabric. She pauses in her task, a small smile quirking her lips. 

“No, love. They live in the ocean. We are a long way away from there now.”

“Oh.” Isabelle sounds rather disappointed, which might have been strange had she still been human. But she isn’t anymore. Sharks, leopards, bears - none of these predators can hurt them anymore.

All they have to fear are their kin. 

“Wash up quickly now. Sunrise will come in an hour.”

“How do you know that?”

Rey pauses once more, her brow furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure. I just do.”

“Is that one of you and papa’s special gifts?”

Her stomach knots unpleasantly, a whisper of a word occurring to her before she can stop it. She looks up at Isabelle solemnly, all traces of her smile gone. 

“Finish washing up. Your dress is almost clean.”

Isabelle blows a raspberry at her in the water and then giggles, the sound light and carefree, before diving into the murky depths. 

Rey stares after her, watching the ripples spread across the calm river, until they fetch up against the shore, where she sits waist-deep in the water. Behind her, twigs snap and the underbrush parts to reveal the biggest and meanest predator in this jungle tonight. 

Her expression hardens further.

Rather than greet Kylo, she goes back to washing Isabelle’s clothes. She feels it when he steps behind her, his gaze a heavy weight against the back of her head. She wishes he would have stayed out there - hunting, or whatever it is that he does when they stop for the night.

But now that he is here, he intends to stay. She does not need for him to tell her this; she can sense the irritated confusion in his mind and she knows what he is going to say to her the second before he utters it. 

“You’re angry with me.”

_Yes._

“No.”

“I see. So you’ve just been ignoring me for the last two weeks for the fun of it?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you. Just an hour ago, I told you that I was going into the jungle to hunt and when I came back -”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Kylo aims a long-suffering look at her then, but she primly avoids his gaze. Well - about as primly as one can when covered in fifteen different types of dirt. Her hair is clumped with muck and leaves, her gown barely hanging on by a thread. Sleeping in the ground does not agree with her, but then again, nothing about the last two weeks really has. She can’t say she ever wanted to spend that much time traipsing through a sodden jungle, even if she does find it all very beautiful. 

“Do you think I am deaf, _lila_? I can hear your thoughts, remember. We are -”

“I’m _not_ mad.” 

Even though she definitely _sounds_ angry, even though the words are pushed through sharpened teeth and a lashing tongue. 

Really, though, she just does not want to hear him say it again. That word - to even think it brings fresh anxiety and a need to avoid him for several hours. Which is just what she has been doing ever since they found themselves wandering through the jungle for the last few weeks. The hospitality of the pyramid seems like a distant dream now. 

“Why don’t you just tell me? It will save us the fight later.” He sounds like he is smiling when he says this, which only makes her angrier. He is always at his most smug when she is miserable. 

Rey barely refrains from screaming an expletive into the gloomy trees. 

Nearby, Isabelle splashes in the river they discovered earlier that night. They do not have soap, but a rinse is better than nothing. She even managed to convince her to drain an addax with her - much to Kylo’s disapproval. It is not like they have a wide range of food to choose from. They are ankle-deep in mud more times than not, so they can’t really afford to be picky about their food choices. 

And if this presents the perfect opportunity to wean Isabelle off human blood, then so be it. 

“There is nothing to tell.”

Kylo grunts. But still, he does not leave. 

“I’ve been scouting the jungle. Making sure we’re not being followed. Covered our tracks the whole back from the sea. No one will be able to track our journey.”

Surprised by this omission, Rey does not quite look up from the water, but she does stop what she is doing. 

“By Rose you mean.”

“By anyone.” 

It is her turn to grunt, though she does so with far more sarcasm. 

“Well? Is that why you’re angry?”

“Because your homicidal maniac for a sister is trying to kill me again or -” _because you’ve been keeping secrets,_ she goes to say, but he cuts her off. 

“Because you didn’t know where I’ve been going each night.”

Impossible. This man is impossible and she would really like to club him over the head with something sharp and heavy, but mostly she just wants him to go away. Still, she will not look at him and she can sense that this more than anything else is starting to anger him. 

Good. He can stew for a while and see how it feels. 

There is a small splash to her side that notifies her that he has joined her in the water. She turns to him, her mouth contorting around the words to tell him to _kindly fuck off please_ but her tongue gets stuck to the roof of her mouth. 

For one mind-shattering second, she thinks he is naked. 

He _isn’t_ , but close to it. He has stripped down to his pants, his bare chest gleaming with water. He combs his long fingers through his hair, washing out the dirt and grime from the past few days. His arms bunch up with his movements, his wide shoulders carved as though from marble. A thin trail of black hair descends down his lower stomach, to his waistband...

Before he can catch her peeking, Rey quickly turns away from him. 

“Could you do that somewhere else please?”

He laughs at her. Laughs. At her.

“What is the point?”

She doesn’t respond and he laughs again, deep and rich. 

“Go on, Rey. Spit it out. It could be therapeutic, you know. You can call me a bastard for the umpteenth time and I can…”

He trails off, his tone low and suggestive. 

She makes the mistake of shooting him a withering glare, only to get stuck on the plains of his absurdly broad chest and absurdly defined abdomen once more. 

Rey looks away again, but not before she catches a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“I have nothing to say.” 

“Really.”

“Yes,” she says quietly, making every effort to look only at his eyes when she glances back at him. “Really.”

He does not say anything for a moment, his jaw shifting in thought. Isabelle pops out of the water nearby, and begins humming a song Rey does not know. Did Kylo teach it to her? Before she can think to ask, he suddenly dives into the water with a mighty splash, soaking her with water. 

Hair plastered to her forehead and dripping with water, Rey sputters angrily, but her anger dies on her tongue. 

Kylo emerges from the water, startling Isabelle. Her shrill giggles fill the night air when he lifts her in the air and spins her around, before dunking them both. She watches them breathlessly, an unknown feeling of warmth spindling in her chest at the sight of the two of them together. At how light and easy Isabelle’s laughter is when it feels like far too long since she has heard her childish joy, her soft innocence. 

Rey is not sure what to call that feeling, so she ignores it. Just like everything else to do with Kylo in the last two weeks. She might be proving his point right now. Just a little. 

But she can’t very well tell him the truth, can she? 

What she _could_ tell him is that she did not sign up for a long, aimless trek through a jungle, where they are forced to dig a pit in the mud every night before sunrise and sleep in the bloody ground every day. She could _also_ tell him that she does not appreciate being hunted by their siblings, especially when she does not know _why_ he has not told them where they are. Not that she is complaining about that last part - she just does not understand his motivations here. 

Kylo has not divulged where they are going, or what his plans might be, or why he is protecting them. Or _anything_ that he promised he would tell her. 

So really, she has many reasons to be piqued with him. And yet… despite the fact those reasons are entirely valid, they are not the ones her thoughts keep returning to. 

In quiet moments in the night, when Kylo and Isabelle are playing, or when he has gone off on his own and Isabelle is content to swim or climb trees or do any of the things normal children do, she will let herself think about that moment in the palace. How they laid against one another, how well they fit together and how soft his lips had been. How they strained together and that _feeling_ that went through her - longing, fate, or whatever they wanted to call it - makes her think that he is right about everything. 

That they are meant to be together, as improbable as that should be. 

But then, she is all too quick to remind herself how easily he keeps his secrets from her. That he is all too keen to express his affections to anyone and everyone else. Because despite everything he told her - about their connection, about them being a dy - a _whatever_ and even the fact that he kissed her - he still thought it was perfectly acceptable to stick his tongue down Jannah’s throat, and in front of her no less. 

She cannot tell him these things, though. She can’t tell him that his departing kiss with Jannah is all she has been thinking about - aside, of course, from the worry that their siblings might discover them at any moment and try and kill them. And she certainly can’t tell him just how much that kiss affected her because she does not understand it herself. 

Or she does, but she just doesn’t want to. 

So, when she finishes cleaning her and Isabelle’s clothes, rather than join them in the water as she secretly wants to, she wanders further inland in search of a suitable place for them to go to ground. 

*

They discover a chain of caves the next night. 

Isabelle is so happy they do not have to sleep in mud anymore that she makes Kylo dance with her under the moonlight. He twirls her in the air, his smile light and accommodating, and so far from his typical barbaric leering that Rey has trouble reconciling him. Delighted giggles fill the humid jungle air, just as lovely and fragrant as the passifloras blooming along their pathway. 

Rey has noted his increasing tendency to entertain most of Isabelle’s whims - the same way she does. Compelled and spellbound by this perplexing and mysterious daughter of theirs. She never before thought of him as a creature who has the capacity to care about anyone but himself. 

But here he is with Isabelle, spinning her around under his arm with gregarious flair as her childish laughter disturbs the nearby wildlife from their wary perches. 

_The child is not a child,_ Jannah had told her, right before they left the palace behind. 

She tries not to dwell on Jannah anymore. Thinking about that vampire only summons the worst of her anger, which she is already battling against in every waking moment. Besides, what would Jannah know about Isabelle that they do not?

Yes, she burned down the ship, but she was a new vampire then. She _still_ is. Whatever nagging doubts she might have, she tunes them out, choosing instead to bask in the happiness of finally being able to show Isabelle how to hunt the way she hunts.

“Dance with us, mama,” Isabelle begs, her tattered skirts gliding over the jagged rockway leading to the caves. 

Rey falters, unsure how to respond in a way that will not upset her but, to her surprise, Kylo beats her to it. 

“Mama is tired, my love,” he tells Isabelle without so much as glancing in her direction. “Why don’t you run ahead and find us somewhere to sleep for the day? Somewhere dry, preferably. And don’t go too far… well, nevermind then.”

Isabelle has already taken off before he finishes speaking. She runs up a steep incline and leaps in the air - much higher than is natural for a human girl - and lands gracefully at the entrance to the cave. 

Rey shakes her head as she watches her go, smile faintly. The first few times she had done that, she nearly had a heart attack - well, as close to a heart attack as one can while technically dead. Now, as she picks her way over the rocks, she laughs at the echo of her strident hoots echoing within the cave ahead. 

“She seems happier.”

Rey looks to her left to find that Kylo has not followed after the girl. He stands on top of a large mica stone, casually propped against the rockface on his elbow and regarding her shrewdly. His shirt is filthy, his boots scuffed and his pants torn in a few places. They all look worse for wear - once they return to civilization ( _if we ever do,_ she thinks morosely) they will all need new clothing. 

Still, she cannot deny that there is an appeal to the way he looks. A dashing brand of wildness in the untamed waves of black hair and his roughened apparel, much like the pirates she always envisioned when she read as a child. She cannot help but wonder if this was how he looked before - when he was still a king and had armies to lead into battle. Traipsing through wildlife with nothing but the thrum of his pulse and his battlelust to guide him. 

Rey catches herself staring - _again_ \- and swallows thickly before averting her gaze. 

“I suppose.” 

Isabelle _does_ seem happier now that it is just the three of them, but she is not about to stop to have a little chat with him about it.

Kylo does not quite smirk at her then, but the tilt of his plush lips is enough to make her look away again. 

Fucking wonderful. 

Rey quickens her pace through the narrow pathway. Tense and anxious, she goes to pass him. If he grabs her arm, or pulls any of his old tricks, she _will_ rip his face off, one strip at a time.

“It’s because I kissed her.”

His tone is deceptively muted, so much so that she stops walking despite herself. It’s not a question the way he says it. In fact, he barely emotes at all, the words as colourless as the wind.

She sways on the spot and in that moment of silence, she knows she has given everything away. Bouncing from emotion to emotion, she feels dizzy with the heady anger his comment summons. And the sudden surge of possessiveness as well. 

_Keep walking, you foolish bint._

But she doesn’t. 

She can distantly hear Isabelle singing that song again from within the caves. The one Kylo taught her, the one she now realizes she knows after all.

It is the same song that woman sang on the beach, in a memory that was not hers to remember. She should not know the tune at all, but she has been in his mind so many times now that she is surprised she does not know _everything_ about him. 

She hears small rocks shift on the ground and she knows that he is no longer standing on the rock. That he is likely approaching her in that measured, plodding manner of his, that he is staring holes in the back of her head like she might give him some clue as to how she is feeling. 

Shouldn’t he know by now?

“Not always,” he concedes, like they are conversing out loud, “but usually.”

“Good for you."

But she doesn’t move either. She could leave - she does not think he would try to stop her this time. But she just… lingers there, standing awkwardly on the rocks while keeping an ear out for Isabelle. 

“Jannah is like a sister to me.” 

She needs to move. To find Isabelle. To put some safe distance between the two of them because she can’t do this anymore. He is driving her insane. 

“The same way that Rose is a sister to you?” Rey winces as soon as she says it.

Well, if she had not given it away before with her tense silence, then she definitely has now. 

“In some ways,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “I have known her almost my entire vampiric life.”

“You seem to _know_ so many people it is truly perplexing to keep up with.”

Kylo does not reply right away. 

She can feel him now like static shock against her skin. The moon has disappeared behind the clouds, so there are no shadows anymore. Just blackest night and humming jungle. Even without any light, she knows he is right behind her, towering over her quivering form. His chest brushes against her back, but still he does not reach out to her. 

She is brittle with nerves and though that hated flare of jealousy kindles in her guts, she is far too anxious to know what to do or how to feel right now. 

“Does that bother you, _lila_?”

Rey crosses her arms and shrugs, but she is not fooling anyone. Her muscles are taut with _something_ now. Something that feels as hot and riotous as this endless jungle, like she might like to bite Kylo and see if that leaves a new scar on him. That she might like to mark him up until no one looks at him again. 

_What is wrong with me?_

“Is that why you hate Rose so much? Because I have lain with her?”

That feeling _blisters_ inside her now. She has to dig her fingernails into the meat of her arms to prevent herself from - why, she does not even know what she means to do anymore. 

Through clenched teeth she says, “I hate Rose because she is cruel and conniving.”

“I am cruel and conniving.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

Fingertips dance on the swell of her hips and she _almost_ leans into him before catching herself. 

“Jannah is different. She likes you, if that’s any consolation.”

Rey sniffs, watching the darkness for nothing and everything. She cannot hear Isabelle anymore and while they should be heading into the caves after her, she still cannot make herself move away. 

“I don’t hate Jannah.”

“No?” He sounds like he is smiling now. “I think you might be lying.”

“Why, because you slept with her too?”

Why is she asking this? Why does she care? Maybe those questions are pointless now. 

“We have fucked. Yes.”

Rey makes a choked sound of surprise and she feels the small hairs on the back of her neck shift with his muted laughter. 

“But that was a long time ago.”

Her gown pulls at the back a little, and then she realizes that it is not the wind. He is careful not to actually touch her skin, but she can feel his fingers pinching her gown right at the base of her spine, gently fiddling with the thin, gauzy material that is so badly stained it is almost black now. 

“Are you planning on telling me where we are going?” 

She silently commends herself on changing the subject and on how she succeeds at (mostly) keeping her voice steady. She does not understand why he is bringing this up now - or why he suddenly cares to know why she is angry with him when he never did before - but she knows that continuing this conversation will not lead them to anywhere that it hasn’t in the past. 

He does not let go of her gown, nor step away. She did not really expect him to, truth be told. 

“To see the Hidden Ones.”

Rey half turns back to him with a confused frown. “The what?”

“Witches,” he says dismissively. “They don’t really like being referred to that way, though.”

Her frown deepens. “Are we going to see Maz?”

Kylo smiles vaguely, but he seems far too interested in staring at the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders. “She’s elsewhere. It is her sisters we will seek council with. The Clan of Babylon.”

Rey realizes that she knows that name - Jannah had mentioned them back at the palace. They placed protection spells on the pyramid to prevent intruders. She goes to ask him why they are going there, but stops herself. 

A far more important question occurs to her. 

“Why are we running away from Rose and the others?” _Why are you protecting us from them?_

Finally, he meets her gaze. His eyes are not glowing for once, just soft and muted. Almost hazel, like her. His hand closes over her hip then, his grasp cool and surprisingly gentle, like he is afraid he might scare her away. 

“Oh, _lila_. I am not just protecting you.”

When did he turn her towards him? She does not know, only that she is facing him now, with little to no resistance at all. She is in his head, she can _see_ what he means to do if they do find them. 

“I am protecting them from _me_ ,” he whispers to her, and then his eyes are glowing - a fearsome shade of jade that makes her breath catch. 

It is happening again; they are falling into each other’s orbit. Collapsing into each other’s embrace. His hands slip from her waist to her lower back, pressing her closer as he noses against her temple and brushes his lips into her skin. Her fingernails dig into his forearms, but he does not seem to mind. He gathers her closer, until there is no space between them at all. 

“Tell me why you’re upset.”

He does not sound commanding or imperious now. He sounds _desperate_ and _needful_. Like just her words and her voice could dictate his ruin or rapture. She does not know what to do with this sudden power she has over him. 

He does not give her time to think. 

He kisses her cheek, her jaw, the gentle arch of her nose, each kiss more forceful and lingering than the last. He nips the skin at her throat, pulling it between his lips and dragging his sharp canines in a way that makes her breathily moan against him. 

She squeezes his arms in turn, her eyes fluttering closed and her tension melting away. 

“Stop hiding things from me,” she murmurs against his cheek. Her hand slides up his arm to his chest and though her touch is shy, tentative, he makes a deep, rumbling sound that she feels down to her toes. She brings her fingers to the part of his shirt and gently rubs against the defined line in his chest. 

She squeaks when he suddenly lifts her off her feet and turns them so that her back is pressed against the rock he had just been standing on. He places bruising, _sucking_ kisses along her collarbone and up the fragile slope of her neck. 

“What else?” he whispers roughly, voice deep and nearly unrecognizable. 

She moves her hand up to his hair and though her touch starts off as slow and exploratory, that flash of jealousy burns hotly up her chest. Her fingers wind through those soft raven locks and _pull_. Hard. 

He hisses against her, but then his hips rock against hers, grinding his whole hard length against her thigh. She pulls his hair until he is looking at her, eyes darkened emeralds and lips red, wet and parted. She doesn't feel like herself anymore; some dark, possessive creature has replaced her for the time being and for once, she does not fight it. 

Voice raspy and dark with command, Rey says to him, “If you kiss anyone else again, I will kill you.”

And in that moment, she absolutely means it. 

The sound Kylo makes then is a deep and broken growl, but it is Rey that kisses him first this time - a line that she has not only crossed, but shattered apart. Their tongues battle for dominance, both her hands in his hair and her chest pressed flush against his. He yanks her higher against him, smoothly grasping under her thighs to wrap her legs around his waist. His scent is everywhere - it is madness pure, it is tangling up her insides and weaving her limbs to his liking until they are all over each other in every possible way. 

One of his hands slides up her leg, taking the gown with him and exposing her creamy thighs to the darkened jungle. He bites her lip, tasting her blood and rumbling with a growl. 

When she nips his tongue in response and his essence explodes into her mouth once again, she is _lost_ to him. Utterly and completely. She can sense his emotions the same way he can hers; his need, his want, and a flicker of something else, buried deep in his chest. Warmth and golden light. 

“ _Kylo,_ ” she moans, all breathy and desperate. 

“Only you,” he mumbles against her lips, his other hand winding into her hair gently. “There is only you.”

She whimpers into his mouth when he starts grinding his hips into hers again, only now his cock is rubbing a torrid pattern right against her aching core. She pets her fingers down his throat, sighing when his hand slips under her gown to cup her bottom. He squeezes her, rubbing incessantly and growling deep in his chest. 

If he doesn’t stop soon, she will, _they_ _will_ …

“Mama? Papa? Where are you?”

In a moment she will later pretend never happened, Rey chases after Kylo’s lips when he draws back. She makes a soft sound of protest, her fingers winding in his hair to pull him back, but then Isabelle calls out to them again and the fog of fervent desire finally lifts. 

“We’re coming,” Kylo calls back to her gruffly. 

The fine hairs on the back of Rey’s neck stand up at just how _rough_ his voice sounds. His gaze is so direct, so _heated_ that she finds herself squirming a little. Her lips part like she means to speak, but she has no idea what to say. This is the first time that they have stopped when it did not involve some sort of catastrophe, or them fighting.

Kylo pulls away from her, gently dropping her back down to her feet. His pelvis grinds against hers one final time, though she does not know if this was intentional or not, and they both make a small sound in their throats at the loss of contact. 

“Fuck,” he mutters darkly and then he turns away, presumably to fix himself so Isabelle does not know what they were doing. 

_Oh god,_ Rey inwardly bemoans. Yet she can’t really find it within herself to quite regret it. Not this time. 

She fixes her hair, straightening her gown, and when they both appear from behind the rock, Isabelle is sitting near a small pond, throwing rocks inside. Blue eyes meet hers and for a moment, she feels a glimmer of something from her again. It’s not quite anger - suspicion perhaps and something else. A thread of deep black in the palette of her thoughts. 

“I found a spot for us,” Isabelle tells them. 

“Very good, darling.” Kylo walks ahead of Rey, the two of them taking care to avoid each other’s gazes. Only this time, when he goes to take Isabelle’s hand, she takes off into the caves without him. 

He glances back at Rey, his eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. 

But that is not entirely true. For one wild moment, she is certain she sensed envy in Isabelle’s mind, as dark as jungle mud.

They carry on into the caves and when they find Isabelle again, she is waiting for them within a dark crevice in the cave, eyes glowing like ice chips in that spool of black. 

*

“How will we know we have found them?”

Kylo glances at her minutely, pausing to step over a fallen tree. He does not even have to climb over it to do so, he is so tall. Rey leaps over it nimbly, landing on the other side in a pile of dead leaves. They smell musty and aged, and she experiences a faint longing for home then. For France and its lovely autumn. 

“I’m not sure.”

Rey rolls her eyes at the surrounding trees like they had the audacity to stick her with him. “Of course you don’t.”

“Witches are very secretive, Rey. They have an arsenal of spells and charms at their command to keep themselves hidden.”

“Then why was Maz staying in the Manor?” She has not given the tiny witch a lot of thought in the last few years. She was one of the many mysteries of living with the Skywalkers. 

“She owes Luke a life debt.” He says this like people owe each other life debts all the time. 

“So she was a slave?”

He laughs then and she traces all those softened lines, her blood thrumming because he really is handsome when all that cruelty falls away.

She feels only minutely better thinking this now. 

“Maz Kanata belongs to no man or beast. She was simply fulfilling a favour owed. She and Luke go back a long way.”

“Do witches live as long as we do?” Rey cannot help but ask all these questions that he _finally_ seems willing to answer. 

Isabelle is up the trees, leaping from branch to branch in an attempt to catch some bats. Earlier, she informed Rey that bats are tasty, to which she told the girl she would have to take her word for it. She preferred to take the game of deer and other creatures of that ilk. Bats, rats and other rodents are beyond foul to drink. 

Kylo shrugs, stooping down to presumably relace his boots. “They have magic - they can live as long as they want with that.”

Rey peers up in time to watch Isabelle snatch a bat out of the air with a victorious cry, but she is not really paying attention to her. What must it be like then, to possess magic? She knows that Maz is powerful - powerful enough to ward a house to prevent anyone from leaving - but she _also_ remembers using her own power against her. At least she is somewhat confident that she stands a chance against witches, though she does not know if the ones they are meeting will be like Maz or not. 

“We ought to tell Isabelle where we are going,” Rey says to him quietly. “She doesn’t take well to strangers -”

“No shit,” Kylo mutters to himself. 

“- and I would prefer not to anger these people. Which reminds me,” Rey admonishes, backtracking so that she is standing behind him as he kneels down to fix his other boot. He groans dramatically, but she does not let this distract her, “you still have not told me _why_ we are going to see these witches.”

“Yes I did, you insufferable nag. I need them to help keep Rose and the others off our trail.” 

He rises to his feet smoothly and she neatly backs up several steps, not realizing until how close they are.

He smirks at her and in a blink of an eye, he is right in front of her again, his hand closing around her hip and tugging her to him. He leans down, his smirk widening into an outright grin when she sputters and tries pushing him away - though not nearly as forcefully as she would have even a week ago. 

“ _Fine_ ,” Rey whispers with exasperation, her cheeks reddening under his intense gaze. She very recently fed, so the blood is still warm within her, lighting up her cheeks and chest under his ravenous gaze. “But you still haven’t told me why we are fleeing from them.”

Kylo scoffs. “We aren’t _fleeing_ from anyone. They don’t know about our bond -”

“Please stop calling it that.” 

“- and I want more time for us to flesh this out.” 

When he leers at her, she knows that his word choice was intentional. She shoves at his shoulder again, looking up at the trees for Isabelle. She still isn’t sure if what she sensed in her mind yesterday was really jealousy or not, but…

“Kylo,” she whispers breathlessly when he leans in and brushes his lips across hers. 

“What?” he whispers back teasingly. 

“That isn’t an answer.” Which should be important. Really it should because he is hiding things from her. Again. 

But when he kisses her more firmly, with his hand in her hair and his nose brushing against hers with such soft affection she almost doesn’t recognize him, she can’t remember for the life of her why any of that mattered. 

“What answer do you want?” he rumbles against her mouth. “That I want us to spend more time together as a family? Or that I want to fuck you right now? Against that tree, right behind you.”

“ _Kylo_.” 

She is blushing furiously and he knows it because he is smiling against her before he kisses her again and god - her chest is tight with some new emotion, fisted into desire and need and just maybe, a small bit of affection as well. 

She kisses him back, at first hesitantly and then with that growing need she is only beginning to know. Leaning up on the tips of her toes, she lets him take the lead this time, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and squeezing her hair into his fist. 

“I want you,” he rasps when they pull apart. His eyes are closed and then he is brushing kisses across her face, then back to her mouth. “Now. I want you now.”

“We can’t,” she tells him, but she sounds weak even to herself. She trembles against him, biting back a moan when he sucks on the tip of her tongue. “Isabelle is near…”

He makes a deep disgruntled sound, but only presses her closer to him. 

“We are getting a house with a door that locks,” he tells her darkly, nipping her chin and laving his tongue across her throat. “And you’ll sleep in my coffin from now on.”

“Okay,” Rey says because she is too dazed and needful to argue with him. His hair is criminally soft and she combs her fingers through it, delighting when he groans deep in his chest. 

“ _Meine bluma_ ,” he growls, almost incoherently. She rubs her face against his chest, lost to his scent, to his fucking _voice_. “ _Meine hübsche Königin_.”

He leans down to capture her lips again, but then Isabelle is calling out to them, her voice shrill with alarm. 

“ _Mama_! Come quick!”

They pull away from each other with a sharp hiss. Taking off into the foliage, they pull up short when they find Isabelle standing in a small clearing. 

And she is not alone. 

There are no less than twenty women standing in the clearing. They are in various states of dress - some in literal rags, others wearing fine silks and embroidered dresses. Each are of a different race, and while their eyes do not glow, she can feel an ancient power here. 

Rey bares her teeth, shoving Isabelle behind her protectively, but then a large hand closes over her arm and Kylo murmurs a Vandalic reassurance to her. 

“It’s okay,” he says when Isabelle whimpers in distress. He turns to the woman and does a very strange thing then. He lowers himself to his knee and taps his throat three times. 

These women can only be The Hidden Ones. 

He looks over his shoulder at Rey and Isabelle, and raises his eyebrows expectantly. She takes Isabelle’s hand and murmurs for her to do the same as Kylo. They both bend the knee and tap their throats as he just did. 

One of the women comes forward immediately after, her chin held high and proud as she scrutizes them. 

“Greetings, Vandalrice,” one of the women says. She has a sharp English accent, but her features are warm, dark. 

Rey’s breath catches at her address to him. 

“Greetings, Mother Aayla,” Kylo replies warmly. “We come in peace and seek haven with your clan.”

The woman - Aayla - stares at them silently. Her gaze flits to Rey, then to Isabelle, and then back to Kylo. For a moment, she thinks that they will be turned away and realizes, with belated surprise, that she cannot read this woman’s mind. Nor can she get a read of the others. 

Curious. 

Then, Aayla smiles and when she does, it transforms her face from one of great severity to one of great beauty. 

“Rise, Benjamin. It has been too long.”

Kylo glides to his feet and when Rey and Isabelle belatedly do the same, he sweeps an arm around them both to pull them to his side. 

“This is my daughter, Isabelle,” Kylo says by way of introduction. Isabelle says nothing, only stares through her lashes at the women and presses herself as close to Rey and Kylo as possible. “And this is my _sifila_ , Rey.”

The woman looks at her again, although this time with great interest. 

Rey glances at him when Kylo, but wisely chooses not to ask what that word means. She has not heard it before and she makes a mental note to question him about it later. 

“Welcome,” the woman tells them with a low bow of her head. The other women behind her do the same. “My name is Aayla Secura, but you may call me Mother Aayla. Now, if you -”

But then she cuts herself off from speech. Green sparks shoot into her hands and soon all the others follow suit. 

It does not take Rey long to figure out why. 

She turns around, already placing Isabelle behind her, when the jungle behind them falls utterly silent. The air grows taut and heavy, and in the moment before things descend into chaos, her power surges to her fingertips. 

Staring back at them from amongst the trees are several pairs of red glowing eyes. Kylo growls, low and warning, but Rey already knows the time has come and gone for any warnings to be heeded. Violence taints the air, thick and teeming. 

The Skywalkers have found them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Valdalic and German: 
> 
> Meine bluma - my flower  
> Meine hübsche Königin - my beautiful queen  
> Sifila - sibling or kindred


	21. Vandalrice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Kylo POV - woot! 
> 
> This is an action-heavy chapter and for some reason, took me a million years to finish. Next chapter will feature the smut you all seek ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

He remembers much of his life for one so old. 

For the first seven hundred years, he existed largely in solitude. Luke showed him how to hunt, taught him what dangers to avoid and showed him so much of the world he once thought of as small. 

But he never fully explained this existence to him and though he treated him as an equal (about as much as one can when they are a Maker) he never nurtured him. They rarely hunted together after the first few times, nor spent much time together. Luke had his Council. He had his politics, his wars, his assassinations. Much of it his progeny did not care for, or really understand; he simply went where his Maker told him, following him around the globe and walking the night alone. 

And killing whoever he wanted to. 

It never really occurred to him that he was lonely. That was not a word he would have ever associated with himself - at least not as a human. Yet he was lonely, in many ways, even if he did not spend much time dwelling on it. 

Perhaps a week into his turning, he discovered he could read minds. A few days after that, he could _see_ memories, could sense emotions - could fucking put paint to them if he wanted to because emotions, he quickly learned, had colours too. He could fly, he could glamour, he could move inanimate objects with just the will of his mind. Months later, in the quiet forests of Norway, he transformed into a wolf. Though it was not the only form he could shapeshift into, it was his favourite. 

And he could see the dead. That one, most of all, disquieted him because a lot of the dead he encountered were in that state because of him. 

Luke knew of his powers. All that mighty Skywalker blood, running in his veins. The moment he laid eyes on him, in the bloodied streets of a freshly conquered Rome, he knew what he was. And what he would be. 

_Vandalrice_ , his people had called him. It was the same thing Luke whispered in his ear before draining his blood and turning him into a creature of the night. 

But if he was to be a king in this life as well, then where were the battles? Where was the glory, the greatness? Council meetings, following his Maker around like a dog on a leash (or a wolf, if one preferred that metaphor) - this was not his idea of power or might. 

Nothing he did or said persuaded Luke to release him to pursue this golden promise. He was relegated to this life of solitude, of loneliness. For so long, he wandered aimlessly in his Maker’s footsteps. After Mombasa, after he… Well, it was best not to dwell on such things. He could barely remember that night as it was and that was likely for the best. All that came from that dark time was deep distrust between him and Luke. He only stayed because Luke commanded him to, otherwise he would have left centuries ago. 

It was only when they travelled to Vietnam, on some diplomatic mission to the Chinese Empire, that a breath of life came back to him. 

He remembers when they found Rose. 

They came upon a great battle that night. The Đại Việt’s army was north in China, distracted by a peace bargain orchestrated with the Song Empire, leaving the Southern provinces completely unprotected. Villages burned to the ground, blood and guts filling the mud as the seasonal monsoons drowned the crops. 

He remembers it all very well, but most of all, he remembers her. 

She was small even though by then she was a full-grown woman. Hair black as night, almond-shaped eyes; her gaze watchful, observant and shrewd, she was one of the most beautiful creatures he had seen in a long time. 

And one of the most fearsome, too.

Having left Luke to tend to his Council business in a neighbouring town, he had been drawn here by the roars of battle and the screams of death. Watching from the treetops, he saw her come out of a flaming house with nothing but a spear and the light of hell in her eyes. 

She was covered in blood. He knew it was not hers. 

He watched, wanting and ravenous for her. She cut the men down, defended her dying village, all while covered in the blood of her dead family. She fought and fought until the arrival of dawn - until all the men were dead and she was the only one left in the village. 

He could have taken her right there and then but he did not. He spared her life that night and went straight to his Maker. He wanted to turn her himself, but Luke would not hear it. It was not until Luke finally came back with him that he saw Rose and all her potential. In her, his Maker saw a chance to continue his lineage. His strange powers had been passed down to his only progeny - so they should be passed down to this village girl as well. 

But for him, he saw a mate in Rose. Someone he could walk the earth with. Someone who could rule at his side, as an equal. Someone who had, many centuries ago on that cool night in Mombasa, been promised to him. 

_You will know her,_ the voice from his blurry memories had told him that night. _She will be your equal, the light to your darkness. With her, you will raise warriors and rule the world._

He was not sure if the one who was destined for him was Rose, even on that violent night of war and death. All he had known was that he wanted her, the same way he wanted that woman on the beach all those years ago. That she awakened something in him he thought long dead. 

When Luke turned her and she awoke the next night in her grave in the mud, he knew right away that it was not her after all - but that did not mean they didn’t have their fun. Rose was vicious, brave and unfailingly loyal to him. Together, they drained entire families. Murdered royals, slaughtered empires and razed entire villages to the ground. She did not possess his power, which he knew disappointed Luke gravely. But she was _his_. 

For a short while. 

Luke turned Hux not long after. Then Finn. 

In his newfound siblings, he created mirror images of his worst impulses, in many ways acting as their Maker when Luke was absent (which was often). He sought to control them and make them like him; ruthless hunters and seasoned warriors. And he succeeded for the most part. 

The only one who remained soft throughout the years was Finn. His precious baby brother. 

He loved them all, he thinks now. In his own vague way. He certainly gave them more instruction and care than their Maker ever did. 

Only now…

Now he must do what he has sought to avoid. It is with bitter irony that he reflects that he and Rey might not be so different in that regard. He knew they would catch up with them. That Rose would go to the ends of the earth to find him and bring him home. 

And he knows very well that he can never go home again. His decision was made the moment he left them. The moment he chose Rey. 

Because she is everything that he has been searching for. The Queen had been very clear with him, in her golden tomb in Mombasa. There is only one and together, they will take the world. 

_Is that all you want, Ben? Is that really what this is all about?_

It is curious that he hears his mother now, even though she is just in his head, even though he has not heard her voice for a very long time. Around him, the jungle is silent and thick with tension. He looks over his shoulder to find Rey already looking back at him. The girl - _their daughter_ \- is tucked behind her. He can see a question in Rey’s eyes, in those beautiful amber spheres that have both infuriated him and captivated him at different intervals since he found her again. 

But for him, there was never any other answer. Never any other path. For if Rose awakened that small gasp of life in him, then Rey has revived him - body, mind and soul - in a way he never thought possible. He is not sentimental, but he is practical and stubborn. He knows what this is, even if he never expected to find it in this life, or his human life before it. 

Rey must see this in his mind because suddenly she is not as afraid. His beautiful, brave _lila_. 

Kylorenic Benjamin Organa turns back to the jungle, watching as red glowing eyes appear in the darkness. Power funnels into his hands, that ancient force handed down from Skywalker to Skywalker. He does not want to kill them. He does not want to hurt the ones he once led across the world - his siblings, his children, his lovers. 

But, as he has always done, he will do what he must. 

_This is the way,_ he tells himself quietly, in a whisper of that old Vandalic saying from another life. 

This is the only way. 

*

“Isabelle,” Kylo says calmly, without tearing his gaze away from where he can see his siblings slowly closing in, “go down the path. Do not stop until you see the torches. The Mothers will take you.”

“Oh we will, will we?” Mother Aayla mutters at him. 

“This isn’t your fight.”

He does not look at her either, does not pay attention when Isabelle protests weakly and Rey whispers to her to listen to her Maker, that they will not be far behind. All those centuries of refined hunting, of instinct and cunning - they are serving him well right now. Although Mitaka has taken care to hide deeper in the jungle, he can smell him. Creeping through the foliage, his skin mottled and his scent bittered as a result. The others are forming a pincer around them, their bloodlust and rage tangible in the air. 

He does not hope to convince them to back off, to leave. Things have moved far beyond that point now. He is not entirely sure he will survive the assault either - he has trained them all very well, his dark Knights. 

Mother Aayla sighs and murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like, “fucking vampires” before acquiescing to his command. She falls back, taking Isabelle’s unwilling hand and leading her away. Perhaps sensing the violent turn of danger all around them, she does not protest further. 

He sees Rey step to his side out of the corner of his eye and tenses up. 

“You too, _lila_. I’ll be right behind you.”

 _No, you won’t,_ she sends to him, rather than speaking.

She sounds… confused, but bleeding through that confusion, he also senses her distress despite her best efforts to mask it from him. She does not understand why he is doing any of this, but she has also come to a decision about it. A decision she does not care for yet cannot deny any longer. At any other time or place, he might have made a comment about it. Something that would have assuredly angered and embarrassed her because she still does not know how to make peace with her emotions. 

Particularly, pertaining to him. 

Shrill screeching fills the air, tearing his attention away from her. His siblings would not dare attack the Hidden Ones - none of them are near powerful enough to fend off their magic. But now that he has sent them all away he can feel them amping themselves up, pushing themselves to attack what was once - for all intents and purposes - their master. 

_I won’t leave you._

Finally, Kylo tears his eyes off the malevolent jungle to aim a distressed glare at Rey. She stands before him, in a dress that is dirty beyond repair and her hair a tangled mess on her head. She has never looked so beautiful to him. If this is the last time he is to look upon her, he cannot find within himself to regret all the choices that have led to this moment. 

But she is in danger now. More so than even himself. 

“Go Rey,” he growls at her.

But, to his further astonishment and disbelieving anger, she crosses her arms and raises her chin at him. 

“No.”

The screeching grows louder in the eerie stillness of the jungle, but Rey - she does not even bat an eye. 

“ _They will kill you_ ,” he snarls at her, taking a step forward to grab her arm and push her back. 

She hisses at him and yanks her arm out of his grasp. Then, it is _her_ leaning forward, _her_ speaking in a low growl. 

“I know far too well what they are capable of and I know exactly what you intend to do. You are no martyr, Kylo.”

There isn’t time to argue about this. He goes to grab her again when a dark form _soars_ out of the jungle right towards them. His back is turned, costing him precious seconds to turn around, to defend himself. 

Though, really, he needn’t have worried. 

Rey raises her hand, lightning quick. That roar of power he felt from her before, back in Luke’s study, back when they were still enemies, before he realized that she and only she is his true equal, leaves her now. An invisible brunt of energy travels through the air and _strikes_. 

It is Bazine, Kylo realizes a second later. She is flying right towards them, a sickle held in her grasp that winks silver off the moonlight. His siblings have come armed, but this is as far as he gets in his grim observations when Rey’s energy collides with their sister. 

Bazine screams, the sound long and throaty with pain, and then she is sent back from whence she came, crashing into the underbrush in a sizzle of burnt skin and concussing energy. The sickle drops to the forest floor, right at his feet. 

The jungle goes silent as though it too is shocked. 

Kylo slowly turns back to Rey, his mouth hanging open and a kindle of dark lust in his eyes. 

“I told you I’m not leaving. You need me,” she tells him quietly. Almost primly. There is a beautiful gravity to her now, her eyes flecked golden and shimmering at him, holding him hostage to her silent command. 

_Yes,_ he thinks dismally, and he knows she has heard this thought too. _Always._

Rather than attempt an ambush again, the others begin a slow, cautious approach towards them. Stalks and branches snap with their progress, hisses and snarls and shrill yipping filling the humid air. Several dark forms materialize out of the jungle, preceded by red eyes and snarling white teeth. It is Rose he sees first with the same look of rage he once saw on her in the burnt-out husk of that little village in Vietnam. She carries a long staff, the handle wrapped in leather to protect her hands. 

And she would need that protection. The bladed end is pure silver. 

“Does Jannah know you stole those weapons?” Kylo asks carelessly, with the unaffected drawl that is his signature. 

Rose grins humourlessly. 

“That bitch needs to learn her place. She isn’t the only one.” Rose aims an ugly glare Rey’s way. 

Rey, for her part, simply squares her shoulders and raises her hands in waiting. Energy - the force as Luke once told him - snaps into her fingertips and rents the air raw with metallic copper and blistering ozone. There is so much he still needs to tell her - about Mombasa, about the Force, about _everything_. He hopes he gets the chance. 

After a regretful pause, Kylo follows suit behind Rey, sparks of pure electricity zapping between his thick fingers. 

“You will not win. You must know this,” he tells Rose imploringly. “It’s not too late. You can go back to Luke. You can forget this madness and -”

“What?” Rose says nastily. “Let you go? Oh, but I have, dear brother. The moment I realized that you chose that whining whore over us, it was all over for you.”

Hux snarls and Kaydel growls. He flickers his gaze at each of them, lingering on Finn the longest. He is the only one not holding a weapon. Unhappy as ever, he looks rather like he wants to sink into the ground and disappear forever. 

“What about you?” Kylo calls to him softly. “Do you want to die for her jealousy?”

Thinking back on it later, he will reflect that this was maybe the wrong thing to say.

Finn does not get the chance to respond. Rose _screams,_ the leaves and branches quaking with her fury. Only one word leaves her lips before they all charge at them. 

“ _TRAITOR!_ ”

Hours later, when he is scrubbing blood off his skin that is not his and lamenting that he let this happen at all, he will pause to wonder at the seamless way he and Rey fought together. There is no verbal communication between them, not even a glance. They just know which way to move, as partners in a dance. 

And what a dance this is. 

Rey spins in a lithe circle, her dirty gown blooming around her bare legs in a pretty circle. He turns at the same time, all tensed muscles and simmering green eyes, his legs bent and his hands held aloft. They stand back to back in the center of that clearing, where moonlight spills across the flattened grass and illuminates the scene anew. The others fly at them, and although to the mortal eye they would appear as blurs, Kylo sees it all quite clearly. Like they are moving through water. He sees every detail in that moment of brutal clarity because that is the way it has always been for him at the height of battle. 

Hux’s fiery red hair appears to glow, his generous lips curled like a dog’s. Mitaka is like a hellish phantom screeching into the night. Jango raises his arms, two silver axes glinting right towards Kylo’s neck. Kaydel holds a dagger and Rose raises her staff, flying towards them with an insane glint in her eyes. 

Then, the moment ends and for a very long time, all Kylo sees is red. 

*

Of all the emotions Rey expected of this moment, relief is likely the last. 

But she _is_ relieved. It is over. They have been found. All the running of the last five years, all the fear and misery and worry for what would happen when she one day met the Skywalkers again - it is here now. And, she has found, she can take ownership of it. 

Because Kylo chose her. Rose said it and although she knew this, somewhere in the back of her mind, she never really understood it until now. She never wanted this. She never wanted to be fighting by his side, to hopelessly want him even when she is pretty sure she still despises him. 

But she cannot leave him either. There is something in her blood telling her that this is right where she is supposed to be. Not fleeing with the Hidden Ones, not holding Isabelle’s hand and assuring her all will be well. Here, back to back with who was once her most mortal enemy. 

And now she is - _they are_ \- 

She leans back when Kaydel swings her dagger at her face and it is Kylo’s wide, welcoming back that she leans against. She reaches behind her to grasp the wide girth of his thigh, swinging her legs up and booting Kaydel right in her pernicious little mouth. There is power behind that kick, energy coursing through her veins, her skin, the very air around her - all at her command. 

Then she has pushed off of Kylo, landing on her bare feet in the grass and blasting Hux away from her just as he swings his sword at her. The sword drops on the ground and when she bends to pick it up, she recognizes it. Besides the hilt, which has been carefully wrapped in leather cloth, everything else about it is the exact same. 

It is her father’s sword. 

Briefly, she remembers the final night of her human life. She remembers how she cut into them, slicing and hacking and screaming with the madness of grief. 

Rey does not scream now. She has never felt more calm and sure about anything in her entire life. She raises her sword and it is Bazine who greets her again. Bazine snarls at her, her face already healing from where she struck her. 

Rey grins in reply and Bazine must see something in her eyes that she does not like because she falters for the smallest instant. 

“Come, sister,” Rey whispers in a low growl. “Let’s see how brave you are now.”

*

Mother Aayla arrives at the gates last, glancing back at the shadowy pathway with a tremulous sigh. Kylo has always had a penchant for trouble, but this? Sheer lunacy. If he survives, he is for one hell of a lecture. 

“Aayla!” one of her sisters’ cries. 

She turns back to them with a frown. “What is it?”

“The girl - she took off into the jungle!”

“For the love of the goddess,” she growls irately. She turns back to the jungle, hesitant, until her expression rearranges to one of bitter resolve. “Stay back, sisters. I will go look for her.”

*

Kylo has fought in many wars, has torn entire kingdoms asunder and led the war cry across fields of spilt blood. Although he has always relished battle, he recognizes its inherent ugliness. Blood and guts, screams and begging, shit and piss - all of it is ugly even if it strikes that hidden cord within him when he is at his most barbaric. His most cruel. 

Never before has he thought of battle as beautiful. That is, until now. 

Rey weaves under his arm when he bashes Mitaka’s face against his knee, and just as she goes to lunge at Rose, he knows - deep in his blood and bones - to hunker down so that she can vault herself off his back. They are liquid around each other. It is almost pitiful how little chance the others stand against them. Rey is his extension, a piece of himself that moves like a knife through butter, like a long lost limb he never knew he missed. 

This isn’t fighting anymore. It’s dancing. 

Like the endless balls he has attended over the centuries, where rich and self-important socialites unwittingly invite him into their homes and into their veins, where he would move as a soundless and hulking shape, all charms and smiles - only now he has a partner. A true equal. Someone has fearsome and cunning as he is. Someone as brave and powerful. 

And oh, Rey is a force to be reckoned with. 

Bazine lays broken and bleeding on the jungle floor, her eyes barely open and soft moans of pain issuing from blood-stained lips. Mitaka and Jango end up as a tangled heap in the underbrush, Jango’s arm torn at a severe and unnatural angle, and Mitaka’s face completely smashed in. Their weapons are strewn about the forest floor, abandoned and gleaming in fiendish silver winks of moonlight. 

But Rey and Kylo do not need them. Not really. 

She has the sword and he knows she means to keep it. And he knows he will let her because they have nothing to fear from each other anymore. She stayed. She stayed and she is fighting at his side, and though he is not foolish enough to think it will be easy after this - because nothing is ever easy with his _lila_ \- things have already changed. Continents have shifted and he is a little astounded to realize that it is not so much her changing to his ways than it might be the other way around. 

It is Hux and Kaydel before him. He does not want to kill them, he does not want to tear apart the things he created. To leave them alive might be foolhardy, but… they are still his kin, even if he is abandoning them. 

Hux swings his blade at him, but Kylo has already moved, far too quickly for even Hux to track. Then, the blade is gone and Kaydel is flying through the air, right into a tree. The branches pierce right through her, stringing her up on the tree through her ribs and leg. She screams, the sound long and unnaturally high-pitched. 

He has already moved on. 

Kylo picks up Hux in his arms like he weighs nothing more than a doll and _throws_ him into the jungle. He spins around, baring his teeth and ready for the next one, when he realizes everyone is down. 

Everyone except Rose. 

Rey swings her sword, clashing silver with silver and shoving Rose away from her. He considers intervening - and he _will_ if things go the wrong way - but for now he simply steps back and watches. He senses it the moment the others start doing the same… but they do not attempt to intervene either. 

They have all been beaten. It is just Rose, their de facto leader, who is left. And they’re all waiting to see what happens. 

_Oh Rose,_ he thinks with faint regret. _Your tireless crusades are at an end, I think._

The staff is knocked from his sister’s hands and before she can scream with the indignant, envy-fueled rage that she feels, Rey knees her in the stomach and tosses her to the jungle floor. 

Then, with a cry of pure rage, Rey raises the sword above her head and swings. 

*

Isabelle pauses at the edge of the clearing, easily evading the witches when they look for her. She is hidden where she stands, with only the peep of her blue eyes glowing like icicles in the humid darkness. 

Mama has her - the one that Isabelle remembers most clearly from that horrible house in France. The one who killed her father and tossed his head around like a ball. Oh, she remembers _that_ night quite clearly, when they came for them in the settlement. 

Mama is not the only one with a grudge to settle. But she does not know how much she has retained from that horrible night. She does not know many things. 

And she never needs to. She will keep her Mama and Papa safe, even if they do not think she can do more than feed on piteous humans. She knows Mama will not kill that wretched creature. It is not in her nature despite how fearsome she can be. 

Isabelle watches and waits in the shadows, and when she happens upon a fallen spear on the ground, she tears a strip off her dress and carefully wraps it around the handle so as not to burn herself 

*

The sword rests less than an inch from Rose’s throat. 

Rose looks at Kylo imploringly, all traces of rage and hatred gone. She looks depleted now, so dejected with stale scorn and heartbreak that Rey almost feels sorry for her. 

Almost, but not quite. 

“Surrender,” Rey growls at her, eyes glowing amber and her lips pulled back from sharp teeth. 

Kylo watches, his chest heaving as he stares at Rey with such longing that Rose cries out in misery and looks away from him altogether. They are both covered in their siblings’ blood and at that moment Rey feels very much like a Vandal herself. Some heathen warrior of blood and bone. 

“Fuck you,” Rose replies, openly weeping now. 

The others linger on the edges of the clearing, growling and yipping, but with far less aggression than Rey has seen from them so far. Something is happening right now - she can feel it in the air around them. 

She would dare call it submission if she didn’t know any better. They hate her - they despise the very earth she stands on - but they will not challenge her and Kylo again. She does not know how she knows this, but then she doesn’t understand how she knows most things she shouldn’t. It’s the blood - Skywalker, vampire, supernatural - and maybe it’s just… _Them._ Together. Her and Kylo. 

But Rose still will not concede. 

Rey tightens her grip on her sword and flicks her gaze to Kylo in questioning. He says nothing, his mind not quite walled off from hers, yet veiled all the same. 

_You must decide,_ he tells her silently. _She is yours now._

Hers to execute or to spare. Hers to decide the fate of. She does not want her. She does not want any of this, but since when has her wants and needs ever mattered?

Rey stares down at Rose for a long moment, eyes locked together in mutual hatred. Only now, there is pity as well. Rose loved Kylo, in her own way. She still does - she can feel it from her quite clearly. Almost like a stinging pressure in her chest. Bloody tears trail across the wide plains of Rose’s face and she finds then that she cannot bear to look upon her any longer. 

_You will regret this,_ her vampiric instincts tell her before she even knows she has decided. _You should take her now. She will not stop until you both are dead - not for anything._

Rey is not particularly happy with her decision when she steps away from Rose. The others whisper in surprise, but she ignores them, suddenly exhausted. Stripped down to bones and ligaments. She needs to feed and then to sleep. To curl up with Isabelle in a bed, or even on a floor for all she cares, and turn away from this whole insane night. 

There are too many things flickering across Rose’s face for her to catch properly. Shock. Dejection. Anger. Did she _want_ her to kill her? 

She almost spits the question at her and decides then that she is not worth the breath. 

“Get up,” Rey murmurs to her. 

Slowly, favouring her thigh where Rey slashed her, Rose rises to her feet. Her hair is covered in dirt and leaves and Rey cannot help but think that she has never appeared smaller to her, when in her memories she was always so large, so hatefully consuming. 

Rose opens her mouth to speak and then the sword is raised in the air again, the point fixed in the air between her eyes. 

“You’ve said enough to last me a lifetime. Keep your mouth _shut_ ,” she growls at her. The sword is steady in her grasp, her resolve unshakable now that she has all their attention.

Kylo picks his way through the underbrush and joins Rey’s side. His gaze is impassive, stoic - save for his eyes of course. 

Rey glares at Rose for a moment longer and looks up at the others as well. 

“We are only sparing you because Kylo wishes it,” Rey tells them coldly. “But if you ever come after us again, if you _ever_ try to attack us, sabotage us, or challenge us, I will kill each and every last one of you.”

She looks back at Rose with eyes as remote as an Antarctic moon. “And you. Never show your face to me again or I _will_ kill you. Am I understood?”

For a few short seconds, Rey is convinced Rose will say no. That she’ll try to attack her again and if she does, she will kill her. They might mean something to Kylo, these sodden beasts, but they mean nothing to her. They killed her family, they stole her life from her, and they attempted to do so again. 

She owes them nothing. 

Rose tilts her chin up at her and growls, “Fine.”

Kylo makes a sound then, something low and ominous that has Rose’s eyes flashing to him with a look of deep hurt and betrayal. 

Then:

“I swear it. By our Creators, I swear it.”

Rey nods at her, satisfied. She is not familiar with this oath, but it must mean something to them because the others back away into the jungle. 

All except Finn. 

Out of all of them, he looks the cleanest and least worse for wear. Small smatterings of blood dots his face and hands, but otherwise he appears uninjured. He meets Rey’s gaze head-on and walks forward. 

Kylo tightens up next to her and it is nothing but instinct that has her reaching for him with her free hand, stilling him at her side. Finn is not their enemy and… she already knows what he is going to ask her before he says it. 

She can hear the words in his mind. And she knows what her answer will be, too. 

He stops before them, gaze flicking to Kylo with something very much like fright, before returning to her. 

“Brother,” he begins haltingly, “Sister, I…”

Something in the air changes then. They can all sense, even if Rey and Kylo are the only ones who know the source. She grabs Finn’s arm, pulling him out of the path of danger. 

But the danger was never for Finn. 

Kylo snarls, low and long, and while the others emerge from the jungle once more, eyes red and gazes snapping to the trees, Rey's face morphs from cool uncertainty to outright horror. 

“I _SABELLE_!” Kylo roars, but it is already too late. 

Rose rises from the ground in a state of confusion and budding aggression, just in time for a small, pale shape to come flying out of the darkness. A silver spear glints homicidally under the moonlight and just when Kylo darts forward - perhaps to save Rose, or perhaps to take the spear himself - it has already happened. 

Isabelle lands softly in the grass before Rey and Finn, and on her face is an expression Rey has never seen before. Twisted hatred, teeming with malevolence and cruelty, like a rabid dog and not at all like a thirteen-year-old girl. 

The spear is not in her hands anymore and a second later Rey realizes why. 

The hilt is sticking out of Rose’s back and the bladed end, now dripping with blood and sizzling smoke, protrudes from her chest. Right through her heart. Rose stumbles a step and then gazes up at her brother.

She looks surprised. Rey will never forget that. She looks _astounded_ that this has happened to her. 

And she isn’t the only one. 

Hux runs out through the foliage, howling Rose’s name in a voice that is guttural with disbelief and agony. The others screech, wordless expletives of deep anger. 

And all the while, Isabelle peers at Rey with a fiendish smile, eyes glinting like sapphires. Rey backs away from her in muted horror, her hand clutched tightly in Finn’s as they look on helplessly. 

“Kylo?” Rose murmurs, blood bubbling from her lips. 

This is the last thing she says. 

A strange, _horrifying_ thing happens then. Rose’s body crumples in on itself. Her features first distort and then _fold together_ , like her skin and eyes and bones are made of nothing but clay. Kylo reaches for her, his eyes wide and his lips forming her name, but before he can reach her, she disintegrates. Just like the sandcastles Rey and her siblings once built together, on the muddy shores of the river near their home. The spear drops to the ground with a dull thunk, kicking up what Rey realizes is dust. 

That is all that is left of Rose now. 

The clearing goes utterly silent and it is then that Rey knows that whatever tentative ceasefire they managed to scrape together - it is gone now. 

But Hux does not aim his murderous glare on Rey or Kylo. His fiery red eyes land straight on Isabelle. 

It is not a choice for Rey. It doesn’t matter that Isabelle has killed Rose. It doesn’t matter that the thing standing before her looks nothing like her daughter. None of that matters because if she does not move in the next two seconds, Isabelle will be dead. 

It is like that night all over again. The night in the parlour, the night in the manor when she was certain they would both die anyway. She does not know anything anymore though. Not this girl, not herself either. She just fought for Kylo and now she will have to fight for Isabelle. But this is not a fight she can even hope to win. Not if Kylo decides to kill Isabelle himself, as she can sense he is very close to doing. 

_Run_ , her instincts cry out at her. 

Rey doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Quick - oh she is _quick_ in her panic as she leans down and picks up Isabelle, then turns in one smooth movement and flees. Isabelle makes a sound of protest, like she _wants_ to stay in that clearing. Rey ignores her and keeps going. Dark shapes fly after her immediately - she even feels fingertips brush her hair, but before anyone can grab onto her, a warm rush of wind passes by her and then she hears screaming and shouting behind her. 

Mother Aayla emerges out of the darkness and Rey closes her eyes with relief. 

“Go!” Mother Aayla shouts at her. “I’ll hold them off until we get into the sanctuary.”

Rey doesn’t care what the sanctuary is - she just runs, feet pounding into the earth and her hands clutching the girl to her. Even though she feels her soul split in two with what she has left behind. 

_Please Kylo,_ she thinks, _please be with us._

*

He hears Rey in his head - hears that soft plea she did not mean to send him. One day soon, when there is more trust between them, he hopes she will learn that this was never a choice for him either. 

Or, if there was, he made his decision long ago. 

He funnels his power into his hands and then he is fending off his siblings once more. It is unbearable - their bloody tears, their shrieks of misery and betrayal. Rose’s ashes at his feet…

It was not supposed to go this way. She was not supposed to die. But Isabelle…

_Later._

If there was ever a time to leave, this is it. 

Kylo sends a blastwave of energy at them, throwing them back long enough for him to turn the path Rey took and follow after her. Before he can make it very far though, a cool hand closes over his. He turns, teeth bared and his hand coming up to throw them away, only to subside doubtfully. 

Finn stares up at him in pleading, his mouth contorting around words there is no time to say. 

He looks back to where Rose’s remains lay in the grass and his eyes close against it in pure misery. Rose… she’s gone. He can’t believe it, but there is no time to process his grief over it. 

After a spell of indecision, Kylo grunts at Finn, “Come.”

Then they turn together to run into the jungle, following after Rey’s scent. Apricots and vanilla. Fear and regret. 

*

Torches soon light their way and then there is another clearing, only this time there are large stone pillars and a great high barrier made of pure granite surrounding what she can now see is a rather large network of stone temples and buildings. 

She runs straight for it, passing by the witches and skidding to an agonized halt. 

“Mama -” Isabelle begins, and oh she _sounds_ regretful, but Rey does not believe it for a second. 

She drops the girl to her feet and before she can give her any excuses, Rey slaps her across the face. The sound rings across the courtyard, and rings in her very ears. But she does not regret it - not for one second. 

The witches watch from nearby, muttering quietly between themselves. 

Isabelle’s head snaps to the side and then Rey drops down to her knees, yanking the girl by the arms with a furious snarl. 

“ _Are you mad_?” Rey shouts at her, heedless of the wounded cry the girl gives. “ _Why - you tell me why right now!_ ”

“She wanted to kill you! She - she wouldn’t stop chasing us, mama. I was trying to _help_!” Isabelle cries back at her, squirming in her grasp. 

But Rey isn’t having any of this either. 

She pulls her to her, her thick blonde curls bouncing from the force of her strength. There is such fury in her eyes that Isabelle recoils as far away as she can in her tight grasp. 

“She surrendered,” Rey says in a tight, low voice. “They were about to leave - and you - _you_ were _supposed_ to stay here while Kylo and I handled it. But you didn’t - _again_! You’re behaving like an animal, Isabelle. First the ship and now this? Do you realize how much danger we’re in now? Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Even Rey does not know the full ramifications of this. Rose’s death did not occur in the height of battle. She had given up, laid down her weapon and then Isabelle…

She murdered her. There is no way around that. It was murder, plain and simple. Rose was a hateful creature, but did that mean she deserved to die that way? Even Rey can’t justify this. 

And now Kylo… she doesn’t know what he will do. She doesn’t even know if she can stop him and now…

“ _Lila_.”

Rey freezes, her fury shifting to fear. She stands up quickly, thrusting Isabelle behind her like she has any hope of shielding her from her Maker. 

Kylo stands near the entrance of the courtyard with Mother Aayla behind him and - Finn. This surprises her only briefly before she returns her gaze to Kylo. He does not look like anything she imagined. His eyes are ringed with bloody tears, but none fall across the long, sloping plains of his face. He just stares back at her quietly, his jaw shifting and his lips folding together. 

“Please,” Rey says to him. 

Something flickers across his expression then - annoyance? Indignation? Even, dare she say, _hurt_?

Rey’s fear falters then, her chin tilting up in question. 

But Kylo turns away from her to Mother Aayla and her hands squeeze into fists. What… she doesn’t understand. Isn’t he furious? Doesn't he want vengeance? 

Isn’t she going to have to go toe to toe with him again?

“Mother Aayla,” he says quietly. “I assume there are still cells in the temple?”

Cells? Rey stares between them in mounting confusion and when her gaze flickers to Finn, he gives her a tiny shrug. 

“There are,” Mother Aayla replies. 

“Perfect. Would you please escort my daughter to one that is light-tight and equipped with some blood for her?” He turns to them then, but his gaze flickers to Isabelle, from where she is peeking around Rey’s skirts at him. “Isabelle needs some time to think about what she has done.”

“Papa - _no_!” Isabelle shouts, backing away from them all entirely. 

In one second, Kylo is standing at the courtyard gates and in the next, he brushes past Rey and grabs Isabelle by the arm, hauling her off her feet and holding up in the air so their faces are level. 

“You are lucky that I don’t bind you silver and leave you outside for the sunrise,” he growls at her. “But you will be punished for this, dear daughter. That is for certain.”

Rey makes a sound, something between a gasp and a hiss, but all it takes is one furious glance from him to silence her. Because he isn’t going to hurt her. He never was. She can see that now, can feel it along the tether between them. 

Isabelle thrashes in his grasp and then he leans down in one quick movement to speak in her ear. 

“You will obey my commands, Isabelle. When Mother Aayla brings you to the cell, you will obediently follow her, you will not protest, or pull any more of your little stunts. That ends now - do you understand me?”

Isabelle breaks down into tears, but when Kylo shakes her by the shoulders, she whimpers, “Yes, father.”

Without another word, he sets her back on her feet. Mother Aayla glances at Rey with guarded curiosity, but then she takes the girl from Kylo with a quiet murmur and leads her into the nearest temple. 

Rey does not quite turn to Kylo, her faced screwed up with something like an apology. 

“The others will not be able to come in here. The mothers’ magic prevents it,” Kylo tells her lowly, like this is the cause of the look on her face. 

“I… alright,” Rey replies unsurely. 

This reaction from him is… unexpected but before she can digest any of it, he looks past her to Finn. 

“Come inside. The three of us need to talk.”

He sets off into the temple after that without waiting to see if they will follow him. Rey and Finn gaze at one another uncertainly, but after a moment, he crosses the courtyard to her. Together, they enter the temple in silence, like two survivors of a disaster who never expected to find themselves in one another’s company again. 

And in many ways, they are. 


	22. Lily Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s only you,” he tells her and for a wonder, there is the slightest red tinge to his eyes now. It bleeds across the scar on his face. The scar she gave him. A binding of crimson and water. “Only us. That is the path I follow now, Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut you seek is ahead, my lovely readers. 
> 
> Enjoy kids <3
> 
> Image One (together): Artist Unknown

“Wow.”

Rey almost bursts into laughter - genuine, bellyaching laughter not at all suited to her aloof demeanor. She has never heard such a succinctly flippant way to encapsulate one of the scariest and most _exhilarating_ nights of her life. And there have been many such nights. 

“Wow indeed.”

“You wouldn’t…?” he trails off, eyes bright with curiosity. 

Oh, but she already knows what he is going to ask her. It is one of the few questions that has burned in his mind ever since she got to part where she displayed her powers. 

_The Force._

She doesn’t like to use that name. She doesn’t like to acknowledge a lot of things about her past, about _herself,_ that have even a whiff of fate. Ben likes to point this pattern out to her whenever possible. 

Like he’s any better. 

Without answering Poe, she lifts her hand and suddenly his phone flies off the table and neatly in her awaiting palm. He does not jump up from the table, as he did when she flew across the room to demonstrate her inhuman speed, but he does go pale. 

“Is that a good enough of a demonstration?”

“Um… yes?” He sounds raspy when he speaks, like he has not had a drop of water in many days. 

“You should drink something. Eat some food - whatever it is you humans do.” Rey almost winks at him when she says this, but refrains from that gesture as well. She does not seek to be cruel to this man. She remembers all too well how much of a shock this all was, how terrifying and unknown. 

Rey places the phone on the table and gestures wanly towards his knapsack. 

Poe glances from her to the phone and back again. He seems on the verge of speaking, but then thinks better of it and goes to his pack. She watches him drink, watches the way his throat works and how his cheeks redden when he devours a half eaten sandwich from his bag. They aren’t as different as she thought, she supposes. 

Her cheeks redden too, when she feeds. 

“You have questions.” Rey smiles when he falters with the last of his food. 

“I mean, yeah. I have like a thousand of ‘em but I don’t want to interrupt the story.”

“Try to narrow it down to three and then we can get back to it.” 

Poe nods slowly, shifting his jaw and then meeting her eyes. He puts the empty water bottle on the table and then glances down at his phone like it might bite him. Finally, he shifts the phone away from him, using just the tips of his fingers and settles back into his seat. 

“Well, alright. First of all - these Hidden Ones? Or Mothers, as you call them? What life debt did they owe Kylo for them to be so loyal to him? They don’t sound like they’re the type to rub elbows with outsiders, let alone a vampire.”

“Witches are not loyal to vampires traditionally - you are right there. But Kylo was not a traditional vampire. He was - how does the saying go? Ah - a _prick_.” 

Poe bursts out laughing. 

“Be that as it may, he did not like to play by the Council’s rules. I happen to know that many centuries before I was turned, the witches went to war with one another. When a new sect broke off from the old, they went to the Vampire Council seeking help. The Council refused.”

“Shocker,” he mutters faintly. 

“Exactly. Kylo happened to have eavesdropped on the conversation and saw an opportunity. In exchange for his help, he told the Mothers that if they let him hunt down their enemies on his own, he would help them." 

"That's it? That's all he wanted?"

"The other witches were mere sport to him. An entertaining way to pass an evening or two. But to the Mothers this meant freedom and liberty from an oppressive regime. He agreed to kill them and the Mothers then owed him a debt, which he would come back to have paid whenever he felt the timing was right.”

Poe draws back incredulously. “So he just - what - _killed them all_?”

“I wasn’t there, but from what I was told afterwards, he did.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” she says tonelessly. 

“But - their magic -”

“What good is magic against The Force?” When Poe doesn’t seem to know how to reply to this, she changes the subject. “Next question.”

“Alright well… you spoke of Jannah earlier. Then of Kylo. Even earlier on - you were speaking about Isabelle too, and it was like…”

Rey nods at him to continue. 

“It was like you were speaking from their perspectives. Like _you_ were _them_ , somehow. In their heads, seeing things as they saw them - even when you weren’t with them.”

“Hmm, yes. I suppose that is confusing.”

He nods helplessly. 

“Well, the easiest explanation is the Force.” She can almost feel him rolling his eyes at her and she smirks concedingly. “It’s true, Poe Dameron, as unsatisfactory as that answer might be. Some things I learned later - from Jannah for instance. But most of the things I gleaned from the others were simply through the will of my powers.”

Poe seems to mull this over for a moment before his expression clears. “I guess that’s how you knew I'm from Guatemala.”

“Among other things,” Rey says softly. He averts his gaze and reddens even more, his pretty olive skin flushing under her gaze. “Last question,” she reminds him gently. 

The redness fades from his face and the look that comes over him can only be described as desperation. She can feel it then; how much he needs to know, how this question has been eating him up all night. 

“You said no skipping ahead.”

Wary, Rey replies, “I did.”

“Look, no matter how you answer, I’m sticking this out. But I gotta know.”

They stare at each other from across the table, though she is more guarded than she has been all night. He will know if she lies. She could tell him and then glamour the truth from his mind, but she does not want to do that. 

Not yet, anyway. 

So Rey just lays it on the table. 

“You want to know if Kylo is dead.”

Poe closes his mouth, taps the table with his fingers, then nods. 

Riddled with indecision, she shakes her head at him. “Why do you need to know this so badly?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe you’ve put me under a spell, but this story - I’ve done biographies before. Small time shit but nothing like this. The way you speak about your life, it’s like I'm there. Right there with you, walking beside you, seeing it all with you. It’s like you’ve taken me out of this shitty apartment and brought me back to that place. And Kylo - he scares the shit out of me. Even more than you do. Isabelle - I know something happened there, I know that you’ll get to all that... but _Kylo_ …”

 _He’s not even here and he’s charmed this man. Will wonders ever cease?_ Rey thinks not without some bitterness. 

“What is death?” she asks him suddenly. 

Poe gives her a look that’s loaded with many things. It is the same look Isabelle used to give her, back when she was still human and Rey enforced her human bedtime schedule. That looks said _why bother, mama, we both know how this is going to go._

“The end,” he offers with a raised eyebrow. “Blackness. Bang. Done.”

“Bang. Done,” she repeats softly. “After all you’ve learned tonight, do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Rey nods like she understands perfectly. 

“Death is a doorway. It does not go to the same destination for everyone, but there are places beyond. I died when I was twenty-one and then I became this thing. This Other. And after all I’ve seen in this life, you know what I have learned?”

He looks back at her, hopeful and yearning. For him, this isn’t just an answer to a mystery in a story. This isn’t just about Kylo, or her, or anyone else. For him, this is the answer to the world’s oldest and most perplexing riddle. 

Death and all that follows after it. 

“No one is ever really gone.”

She waits, ensuring that he understands her meaning. He stares back at her for a long moment and when he nods slowly, she knows he does. 

Poe does not interrupt her again for a long time. 

*

They are in the main temple of the compound, a building of sandstone and little fanfare. Plain and built for utility rather than opulence. The Mothers have tactfully left them alone since they entered, giving them a small sitting area down the hall from a series of bedrooms. Each of the rooms is light-tight and houses a bed and dresser. The sitting area is small and quaint compared to Jannah’s palace. A fire blazes in a carved wooden mantel and the rug on the floor is old and used but clean. 

The accommodations are simple and utilitarian. Rey likes the compound far better than Jannah’s palace, but she has a feeling they will not be staying here for very long. 

She blinks down at the floor, trying to tune out the sounds of Isabelle crying out for her from the cellar. Kylo went down there just a moment ago without a word or glance to her. It was like she did not even exist to him anymore and she knew then that things were not right between them. That their daughter has once again created a whole mess of things for them to clean up. 

Soon enough, Isabelle’s weeping abruptly halts. Kylo is with her now, but that is about as much as Rey can glean from him. His mind is closed off to her and strangely, so is Isabelle’s. 

It goes still and quiet within the compound. 

Rey presses to his mind gently, not really trying to see his thoughts or intentions. She knows if he wanted to kill Isabelle, he would have done it outside. Right now she’s far more interested in how he is feeling. All she gets is a vague sense of sadness. And anger. 

_Oh god, what are we going to do with Isabelle_? 

She truly does not know the answer to that question. She feels that she doesn't know anything anymore. All she can see in her mind’s eye is the image of her daughter soaring out of the underbrush with a dagger in her hands, her eyes glowing like ice chips and her fangs bared. She could not rationalize that away as Isabelle merely trying to protect her. 

The murder in her eyes had been all too implicit. 

“The girl… The last night you were in the Manor - she was there too.”

Rey glances at the other occupant in the room and nods. 

Finn’s normally deep, rich complexion is ashened. She doesn't know if this is from hunger or the shock of watching Rose die. Or perhaps, he is simply frightened of what Kylo might do to him. She cannot really blame him. 

When Kylo came through the compound gates, she was not sure what he would or how he would react. Imprisoning Isabelle in the temple’s cellar was the last thing she expected and while she feels immensely guilty that her daughter is locked away below her feet, she is also secretly relieved. Now that Finn is here, his presence has added a whole other layer of uncertainty to things. 

She needs time to think. 

Finn shifts in his seat next to her, drawing her attention back to him. 

“I will not seek retribution,” he tells her and there is such haunted earnestness in his eyes, that Rey momentarily forgets about her own misery for a moment. “Rose did not deserve to die that way, but I cannot deny what she was… I am glad she is gone.”

"I’m glad she’s gone too,” Rey whispers. And she absolutely means it. 

Finn nods and she thinks that will be all from him, but when he goes to speak she isn’t really that surprised. She hasn’t seen him for a long time. Even though she has been consumed with evading Kylo and the others, she would think of him every so often, wondering if he might one day work up the courage to do what she had done. 

“I cannot speak for the others, Rey. Your girl went against one of our oldest customs. It is different if you are defending yourself, as you and Kylo did. But she murdered Rose in cold blood. There are witnesses and… Hux will go to the Council, if he hasn’t already. He and Rose were close - well, about as close as one could get with Rose Tico.”

Rey doesn’t say anything to this. She stares into the fire, picking blood and jungle mud from her fingernails and grievously wishing for a bath. There were clothes in the other rooms when she looked but she did not spend too much time wandering around. 

Her guts are filled with a lurch of dread. Hot and heady, and prickling like thorns. 

She has had no dealings with Council, though from what she has gleaned from Kylo and Finn they are the governing body of all vampires. They set the laws, whatever those might be, and they enforce them. 

There is no doubt in her mind what kind of sentencing Isabelle would receive should she fall into their hands. 

_And so, we are on the run again._

Only this time, she doesn't know if Kylo will go with them. 

When did that start to matter to her? It’s been only weeks and already so much has changed between them. She doesn’t know what they are, or even her own feelings towards him from one moment to the next and now… 

She wants him. She is not fool enough to deny that anymore. She wants him more than blood and life itself. It's their connection but she knows it's more than that. She just has no idea what to do with it. 

“Do you think…?” Finn is leaning towards her seat now and she can see the anguish in his eyes. The guilt he carries and it’s… for her. 

Rey stares back at him in faint amazement. “You wanted to come with me that night. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly. “But I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid.”

“The Council will be after us. If you come with us now, your life will be in danger too.”

 _If there even is an “us” anymore,_ she thinks but does not say. 

“I know.” He looks away from her to stare into the fire, but she knows it’s not the flames he sees. There is a whole long road behind him, filled with bitter regrets. 

She knows the feeling all too well. 

“They stole everything from me. My life, my family, my… Everything. It’s all gone. I don’t know how to get it back, or if I ever will. But I cannot be with them anymore. Hux will never forgive me.”

Finn starts trembling and despite herself, Rey is riddled with sympathy. He is partly to blame for her own darkened fate, but she decided to forgive him a long time ago. 

“And now you want to join us… to join Kylo? I don’t understand.” She takes his hand, pulling his gaze back to her. 

There are bloody tears in his eyes now, trailing over ashened skin. Gleaming darkly in the firelight. 

“Kylo was our teacher. Our relationship was - _is_ \- difficult to explain. He was there for us when Luke wasn’t. But Rose… and Hux - they... they -”

“They tortured you.”

Finn makes a choked sound and she rubs his hand with her cool fingers, offering comfort where there is little to be had. 

“They thought they were helping me become strong,” he says, laughing bitterly. He wipes away his tears with a disgusted sneer and pulls his hand from her grasp. “And after a while, I believed them. Really, they were stripping away my humanity. One bite and lash and rape at a time.”

“Finn,” Rey says gently, “that night… when I saw you with Rose and Kylo - were they -?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “That was consensual. But I wasn’t really present for it anymore. Sex was currency for us. It was how we bonded, how we celebrated. How we punished one another.”

She almost flinches. What a terrible existence.

“But now, I see how Kylo is with you. I see how he has changed and it gives me hope. Maybe… maybe I can change too.”

Rey snorts, though her attempt at sarcasm feels weak even to her. “Kylo hasn’t changed that much.”

“I don’t know about that,” Finn murmurs thoughtfully. “There is a gravity to the way he looks at you. To the way you look at each other. You might not see it but things have changed, _macho ya hazel_.”

She smiles faintly at him before shaking her head. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“About Kylo?”

Rey drops her hands in her lap with a tumultuous sigh. “About everything.”

She senses him enter the room before he speaks - she senses him before Finn does. Kylo is barely a shadow at the fringe of the room, the light from the fire casting strange shadows across his face. For a moment, she sees a flash of him as he appeared in her dreams on Crete. The black scarf, the green eyes, the wild, wanting glare. 

She blinks and that image is gone. 

“Quiet now, _sifila_ ,” Kylo beckons to them. “I have a solution to all our problems.”

*

“You may stay with me on one condition.”

Rey sits in the armchair nearest to the fire, watching the scene unfold with unease. This is another vampiric ritual she wasn't privy to until now. Fealty and pledges - they seem like such an archaic concept to her, like the Knights of the Round Table, or the crusaders of Babylon. Like she is witnessing a long fallen age 

Finn kneels on the floor below Kylo, his head bowed in submission and tears trailing down his face. This is a far cry from the sassy and precocious vampire she first encountered in France. 

But things have changed now. 

“Anything, _mwalimu_ ,” Finn replies. "My life is yours, by the laws of Tano and Maul."

_Tano and Maul?_

Rey makes note of these strange names for later… if Kylo is around to ask, that is. She assumes after he deals with Finn, that he intends to deal with her as well. She isn’t looking forward to that fight. To the accusations that will surely follow. He remains stoic throughout this mysterious custom, but behind that she feels that vague sadness once more, brushing against her like fine silk. He still has not addressed her, not even so much as a glance in her direction.

She folds her arms together, fiddling with her dirty gown just for something to do. Her stomach is a riot of nerves now, knowing that at any second, he will inflict his wrath upon her. 

“You must never betray me again, brother. You must never betray this family or you will suffer the true death. Do you understand?” Kylo’s voice is low and timber, gruff with some emotion she cannot place. 

She does not know if he means the Skywalkers, or if he means… Her. Them. _Us_. 

Not that long ago, she would have slapped herself upside the head for daring to hope for such a thing, but now… The Force. The Dyad. The dreams. All these things, tying them together - whether it is fate or some cosmic joke - she cannot deny it anymore. 

As much as that might frighten her. 

Finn peers up at Kylo, stifling his tears as he makes his vows. “I will never betray you. I will stand and fight by your side or suffer the true death.”

Kylo stares back at him in silence before extending a hand. Rey cannot help but stare as he helps Finn to his feet and the two embrace. Finn murmurs something to Kylo and this time… this time she does not try to overhear it. 

This is between them. Her presence here is nothing more than an observer. 

“All is well,” Kylo murmurs back and then releases him. “Come, let’s sit. I know where we will go next.”

Rey perks up, thinking that _now_ he will at least look her in the eye. To tell her she is on her own, or…

Kylo brings a map out from his jacket and unfolds it across the table. When she does not immediately join them to look at it, he makes an annoyed sound in his throat and glances at her so fleetingly she wonders if she was seeing things. 

“Well?" he drawls at her. "All three of us will need to see the route… or did you not just spend the last four weeks whining that I needed to include you in my plans?”

She very nearly loses her temper then, but it is only when she studies his face that she sees the exhaustion in his eyes. It is there and gone within the blink of an eye, but she sees it and softens to him, just a little. 

The hope she feels is small and tentative, like spring's first buddlings on a tree. She flicks her gaze to Finn, who only offers her a tiny shrug. 

She shifts closer and clears her throat, awkward in her limbs. “The route?”

“Yes. We’re going to China.”

“China?” She repeats quietly. 

Kylo meets her gaze head on, his scar thrown into sharp relief by the fire. “To Mount Jiuhua, specifically.”

“Why there?” 

Finn peers down at the map thoughtfully before nodding. “That’s Kenobi territory. The Council won’t go anywhere near there. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a part of the Neutrality Charter.”

 _The Neutrality what_? Rey thinks, brows wrinkling in confusion. 

“Exactly,” Kylo murmurs, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her. She doesn't know why he has decided to now when he seemed hellbent on avoiding it earlier. 

She fights not to squirm under his gaze, hating that they are on such unsure footing. They might be travelling together, but she feels that brush of anger from him again and knows that won’t mean that this will just go back to the way things were before. 

Nothing is ever easy with Kylo. 

“What’s the Neutrality Charter?” Because she can’t address this yet, because she just fought for him but Isabelle - god _Isabelle_ just went and ruined everything. 

Again. 

“The Kenobis are an ancient vampire bloodline. They date back to the same time as the Skywalkers,” Finn tells her. He glances between her and Kylo, his mind filled with curiosity, but he wisely does not say anything about the fraught tension between them. 

“Let me guess - there was a war.”

“There were many wars, but we need not concern ourselves with that right now,” Kylo snaps. Rey’s stomach gives an unpleasant lurch at his waspish tone and she leans back in her seat like that small distance might protect her from his pique. “What’s important is that once we cross into the mountains in China, the Council cannot touch us. The Charter guarantees it. These are borders not even the Council can touch.”

“We just have to get there in one piece,” Finn mutters. “That’s quite a distance to cover.”

Kylo waves at the map dismissively, rolling it up in midair without raising a finger to actually touch it. “We’ve had worse odds, brother.”

“And Isabelle?” 

Both men pause to look at her. She is uncomfortable under their scrutiny (under Kylo’s in particular) but she makes herself continue. 

"After tonight - after what happened - how can we ever trust her to travel again?" There's a catch in her voice that she tries desperately to ignore and she feels the tears that want to fall. They’re talking about the girl like she’s an ill-tempered dog, rather than her daughter. "It's a long way to China, Kylo. Isabelle -"

“ _Isabelle_ ," Kylo interrupts brusquely, "understands that my commands are absolute.” There is a rather chilling glitter to his eyes now and she thinks it might be best to steer clear of this topic for the rest of the night. “She is being taken care of downstairs by the Mothers. I told her she is not to see you until our conversation has sunk in.”

“Did you?” Rey murmurs. 

“I did, _lila_. Do you have a problem with that?”

She bites her lip and doesn’t answer him. She doesn’t even know where to begin. Should she tell him she is sorry that Rose is dead, even though she doesn’t mean it? Should she tell him that Isabelle is out of control, that she is even afraid of her? That she has no idea how they are supposed to make such a far journey with this child-beast that she no more recognizes than a stranger on the street?

“Well?” Kylo murmurs silkily. “Speak up, _lila_. You’ve certainly never had trouble doing so before.”

“No,” Rey utters colourlessly. “There isn’t a problem.”

Finn sits back in his chair, his limbs folded awkwardly as he looks back and forth between them like they’re opponents in a particularly heated game of chess. 

“But there is, _lila_. There is a problem.” 

He’s smirking now but she knows it’s a lie. He is unsure about something and she doesn’t have the energy or inclination to begin guessing what it could be. She isn’t angry with him for his churlishness - not yet anyway. As much as it pains her to admit it, she is furious with Isabelle. Terrified for her, but furious and a trifle unnerved as well. Kylo might have ordered her to obey his commands, but how long will that decree last? How long before she kills someone again?

_The child is not a child._

Finally, Rey is starting to make some sense of that cryptic phrase. She’s been dreaming of it for months, and before that, she heard it once while in a red haze, whispered to her like some prophetic warning. 

Kylo leans toward her like he overheard this entire line of thought. His gaze is rapt and stern, and his anger leaches out to her, though it is surprising in its tentativeness. They are completely ignoring Finn now, and silently communicating her worst fears. 

_There is something wrong with her… isn’t there Kylo?_

“What do you think, Rey?” 

The question is sarcastic and then she _does_ get angry but only because she is so uncertain of where they sit with one another. She wishes he would just fly into one of his infamous rages. At least then, she would know what he is angry about and they could move past it. But Rose is dead and Isabelle is locked in a cell in the basement of this temple. 

And the two of them are back to uneven footing. 

Finn claps his hand together, startling them both from their heated staring contest. He stands, aiming a distracted smile Rey’s way before turning to Kylo. “Well, you both clearly need some time alone. I’m going to rest.”

Sunrise isn’t for a couple of hours, yet they all know that’s not why Finn is leaving. She watches him go, sitting back in her chair and chewing on her cheek. He disappears from the room and soon a door closes with a quiet click down the hall. 

Then they are truly alone. 

“You’re filthy.” 

Rey narrows her eyes at Kylo when she realizes that he is barely concealing a smile. The quirk of his lips is restrained, though. Guarded, though against what she still does not know. His eyes have darkened to that shade of green that either precedes a torrent of rage or…

“So are you.” 

She doesn’t mean to sound so defensive, but never in her time with this perplexing and frankly vexing creature has she felt so uncomfortable in her own skin. 

_Just do it,_ she silently wills him. _Scream at me, throw things, get angry. I can’t take another second of whatever this is._

“There’s a bathing chamber down the hall. I understand it’s been prepared for us.”

“... alright.”

He continues staring at her with his guarded little smile and she flounders for something to say before deciding that the best thing she could do right now is give him some space. Even if it's that last thing she needs right now. She misses his playful kisses in the jungle. She misses them even though it was only hours ago that he took her in his arms and whispered such delightfully filthy things in her ear.

And now his mind is shuttered against her when it never was before. 

“Well, I’ll… go wash up then.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything. He raises a hand to his mouth, not quite covering it, and tilts his head at her like she’s the one acting strangely. 

Thoroughly unnerved, Rey rises to her feet in jerky motions and she crosses the room, fighting the urge to look back at him. She can feel his eyes on her the entire way, her spine tingling with the weight of his regard. 

Her bare feet pad across the cool tiles, soles black and just as dirty as the rest of her. The hallway is narrow, almost oppressively so, though she attributes some of this to her own nerves. She smells vanilla and honey just before she comes to the bathing chamber. The air is humid and warm in here. Incense burns in small holders around the room. There are large pools in the floor that she supposes are baths, though she has never seen tubs so large before. 

Along the wall are stalls with thick cotton curtains hanging around them. She inspects these, finding wooden spigots on the walls. She has heard of showers before, though her farmhouse back in France only had a single cast iron tub that her family all used. Even the Manor was equipped with a tub but no shower. 

Curious, and still attempting to shake off her anxiety about Kylo’s strange behaviour, she turns the handle of the spigot and watches as warm water pours out. It’s almost magical, the way it comes out of the wall, and before she even questions it, she stands under the pouring water, in her gown and all. 

The water provides a comforting white noise, drowning out the sounds in the room, drowning out her own racing mind and temporarily entombing her in the warmth of the water. 

Temperature is a forgotten commodity - she rarely feels the chill of the wind, or the warmth of the jungle air. But now she can feel heat again and she wonders if that is part of the magic of this place, before she decides not to think anymore. She blindly reaches behind her for the curtain and swings it shut. 

It’s like being in the womb again. 

As a little girl, she used to curl up under her blankets with all the edges tucked in and pretend she was swaddled in her mother’s embrace, like when she was a baby. After tonight, after everything she has been through, she almost feels like crying. Like this shower, with its lulling steam, is its own kind of embrace. The burden she has been carrying, the lingering guilt over Isabelle and her confusing feelings towards Kylo, her anger and fear and the sheer madness of coming into her powers - she lets it all wash away under that soothing warmth. 

Suddenly, the curtain is thrown open. 

Rey spins around with a startled sound, water spraying everywhere and her hair plastered to her skull. Her eyes glow amber but before she can tear whoever it is to ribbons, _his_ scent washes over her. Kylo is there and that tug in her navel, that string that binds them together, it gives a mighty _yank_. Fate’s cruel leash. 

Only it doesn’t feel cruel to her now.

She blinks water out of her eyes, not bothering to cover herself or show a trace of modesty. Her gown is molded to her skin and leaves little to the imagination. Her nipples pebble through the sheer material, dusky pink and entirely visible. Every curve of her body is on full display and she stands before him with a defiant tilt to her chin. 

Now he will yell. Now he will break things. She’s so convinced of it that she falters when he does none of these things. 

Instead, he stands at the threshold of the shower, water dotting his shirt and his eyes roving across her body. He drinks his fill, his gaze ravenous and dark as he tracks down from her feet to the swell of her hips and the dark thatch of curls visible through her gown, to her breasts and finally to her face. 

“You’re angry,” Rey tells him as water pours down her back. 

It's a repeat of a conversation they've already had, only now their roles are reversed. 

Kylo makes a dark sound in response, eyes glinting like emeralds and the sharp points of his teeth winking out at her. Then, he is in the shower with her, his shirt and pants drenched as he towers over her. She backs away with a squeak, but before she can get very far, he grabs her by the waist and spins her around to press her tightly against the wall. 

Her hands smack into wet tile and she gasps, tingles racing up her spine only to transform into a heated spark. His hips cradle her bottom, and she feels his long, thick hardness pressing into her lower back. She moans, low and desperate, but then he is nosing against her throat, lips scattering kisses into slick skin. When his hand cups her stomach, she jolts against him. 

“I’m not angry.” 

His voice is so deep her toes curl against the wet floor. He licks up to her ear and presses his face against her head, breathing in her scent and rumbling with something that is very much like a purr. 

“But you -”

“I’m not angry,” he repeats, and then his hand is tugging, ripping the gown right off of her until it is nothing but shreds on the floor. He growls, nipping her shoulder and hurriedly tearing his own clothing off. 

Behind them, the shower curtain closes, though she can’t tell if she did this with her mind, or he did. 

“The way you fought tonight, _lila._ The way we fought together…”

He spins her around roughly and before she can blink, she is slammed against the wall. And he is there again, right there to press against her, all over and smothering her lovely. His cock weeps against the soft swell of her stomach, painfully hard now that he is so close to what he wants. What he needs. What they both need. His fingers pluck at her nipples and she whines, burying her face in his throat to drink in his scent greedily with hardly any time to process what is happening. 

Only that it is. 

He kisses her temple, her hair. He grips any skin he can reach like he can’t get enough, like he has been deprived for thousands of years. His hands cup her bottom and then yank her up against him as he snarls into her throat. She keens brokenly and then _she_ is touching him, running her hands over the firm pads of his chest, the same chest she has always pretended not to notice. She traces his abs with her fingernails and then descends lower, through coarse black hair and... 

She has barely gotten her hand around him (and barely _fits_ her hand around him) when he grabs her under her thighs and hoists her up against him. She growls, angry at being deprived the chance to touch him, when suddenly his face is in her view again. She abruptly forgets what she's mad about and instead runs her hands over his shoulders. 

He really is beautiful. 

She can admit that now, even if only to herself. His cheekbones are high and proud, framing those haunting green eyes in a lovely smooth arch. His lips - so red and wet - are plush pillows that she wants to suck and gnaw on. But for now, she simply looks at him, raising a shaky hand to trace around his eyes and cheeks with something close to wonder. 

The hunger in his eyes changes for a moment, _softens_ to an emotion he has no right to and though she can sense his elation, his greedy need of her and of _them_ together, there is something else within his mind. 

That golden thread she saw before appears to her again, stronger and more prominent than before. 

“Rey…” Kylo whispers and he sounds just as awed as she feels, “you must know there was never a choice for me.”

“But Rose,” she murmurs, afraid that to speak any louder will shatter apart the fragile moment between them.

Kylo closes his mouth and swallows thickly. The pain is there - grief and loss. But what she failed to realize until this moment was that none of it really matters to him. Not anymore, not now. 

“It’s only you,” he tells her and for a wonder, there is the slightest red tinge to his eyes now. It bleeds across the scar on his face. The scar she gave him. A binding of crimson and water. “Only us. That is the path I follow now, Rey.” And then, he whispers into the hollow of her throat, “ _Bis ans Ende der Welt, meine Königin_.”

Rey knows this meaning too. She knows it in her blood and bones because it is the same for her. No matter what comes after, no matter the road and all its treacherous turns, it will always lead back to him. 

She slides her fingers down, affording him the same gentleness as she did when holding the lambs in her family home as a little girl. It is his scar that she lingers on, touching that thin score until she reaches his jaw. His eyes close and they lean into each other until their foreheads touch. 

And then she kisses him. 

He holds her to him effortlessly, the dirt and grime of the jungle washing away and leaving behind porcelain skin. He grips her bottom tightly, groaning when her hands sink into his hair and tug. Her tongue sweeps against his and they go from gentle to desperate all over again. All tongues, teeth and breathy moans that echo off the chamber walls. 

He touches her breasts, her throat and then her face, angling her head the way he wants it. 

And between them, she feels him reaching for his cock, adjusting the tip so that it brushes against her most sensitive part. 

She never wanted marriage or children. She never wanted a husband, she never thought about sex mostly because it always seemed like just another way for men to impose their control over women. 

But as Kylo presses inside those first few inches, Rey thinks that nothing has ever felt so right in her entire life. 

There’s pressure and a pinching sensation - he is thick and large and she is small, so _tight_ and untouched - but she bears it, biting his lips when pain flares inside her. He molds himself even closer against her, drawing away so he can watch what he does to her with hooded eyes and a look of wonder. 

Her passage is slick, and while he is almost _too_ big for her, he somehow slots perfectly inside her. He slides further inside her, pressing against a spot she never knew existed. Her cunt gives an involuntary spasm and he _growls_ , lips parting and eyelashes brushing against his cheeks when he closes his eyes. Then - _then_ he gives a sharp, involuntary thrust of his hips and he is all the way inside her. Root to tip. 

“Kylo,” she gasps into his neck. 

“I know,” he murmurs breathlessly. “I know, I feel it too.”

They’re both trembling, held suspended in that moment. Their minds open up, entwining together. Merging as one. She wraps her arm around the back of his neck and presses her face into his throat, scenting him. Cream and beechwood. Rain and mist. She feels so _full_ with him inside her, his cock pulsing and his body, all hard lines and muscle, cradling her against him. His fingers wind through the long locks of her wet hair and then he pulls his hips back in a slow slide, his teeth first nipping at her throat before piercing skin. 

And as he drinks from her, he _slams_ his cock back inside her. 

She cries out, pulling his hair and rubbing her face against his skin. Her cunt contracts, a rush of tingles and pleasurable warmth spreading through her lower abdomen. He grunts like a beast and does it _again_ , thrusting hard inside her until he finds a rough rhythm that nearly drives her out of her mind. His hips slap into hers, his tongue lashing against the bitemarks he's made before he leans down to suck. She moans, panting his name and rubbing mindlessly against his bulk every time he pumps into her. It’s building up inside of her so quickly, she feels she burst apart at the seams. 

Suddenly, Kylo rips his teeth from her skin and then his lips are pressed against her ear. 

“Bite me, _lila_ ,” he growls in a roughened command, his cock thrusting hard inside her and his fingers digging into thigh. “Drink from me.”

Rey keens and does exactly as he commands, fastening her lips to his throat and biting down. His essence explodes into her mouth and then her mind is filled with that golden light, threading and binding them together, body, mind, and soul. She pulls off of him with a wet mewl, and she can feel the tension all over his body now, can feel the way he throbs inside her. 

They’re both so achingly close, dangling right on the edge. 

“Kylo, I -” she goes to say, but she never gets the chance. 

He pounds into her, his rhythm losing fluidity as he groans Vandalic endearments in her ear and she - _she_ \- 

The pressure inside flares and then she is coming. That word is not her own - she steals it from Kylo’s mind and she finds she agrees with it just fine. That is what this is; coming together in every possible way. Her vision goes white and all she can focus on is the clenching pleasure pulsing inside her. 

Kylo kisses her cheeks, her nose, then her lips, moaning helplessly through her aftershocks until he slams all the way inside her. He roars as the crest takes him too, his hips stuttering and his cock spilling deep inside her. She runs her fingernails across his scalp in a gesture that is just as soothing to him as it is to her. 

As they come back to earth, staring into each other’s eyes with mystified wonder, Rey knows exactly what it was that she was about to say. 

And he does too. 

Kylo kisses her again, then drifts down to her shoulder to press his face there as they catch their breath. She hears it, whispered like a solemn prayer in her ear. 

“...you too. Always."

They stay that way for a long time, rinsing away the night's follies as the pretty red of her virginity paints the floor in roses and lily blooms. 

Crimson and water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> German:  
> Bis ans Ende der Welt, meine Königin - to the ends of the earth, my queen
> 
> Swahili:  
> mwalimu - brother


End file.
